Has he… killed?
I don’t want to ask, because I don’t want to know the answer. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it if it’s not the one I want to hear from him. If someone has done bad things in their lives, but are good to you, does that still make them a bad person? Or is that me just seeing what I want to see?
“What do you need me to do?” he asks, sounding lost.
I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t know what to think because I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that there’s a dead body, a relation of the man I’m about to have a baby with, out the front of his house, and I’m meant to pretend I don’t know. That it’s okay. That it’s just a small problem my man is going to fix.
“Go and do what you need to do,” I tell him, grabbing my phone. “I’m going to tell Christina to come and keep me company.”
I send her a text saying it’s an emergency.
If a dead body isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.
Sylar hesitates, then asks, “Will you be here when I return?”
Does he think I’m going to run away?
“I’m not going to leave without a word, Sylar. I’m not you,” I say, feeling like shit when his face drops even further.
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise,” I tell him.
He nods and stands, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he disappears out the front door.
I look down at my stomach and mutter, “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?”
*****
“Wait, so this dead body thing isn’t a prank?” Christina asks, eyes going wide.
“No,” I say for the third time. “It’s not a prank. Why would I tell you to come here and lie about a dead body?”
“To try and be funny? I don’t know. You say all kinds of shit!” she cries, then takes a deep breath. She then looks at me with a serious expression and says, “You know all of those memes about how true friends help other friends bury bodies and shit?”
I nod.
“Well, I’m one of the people who share those memes. So I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t actually do so.”
She picks up her phone and hits Spencer’s name.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, trying to grab the phone from her. “Are you going to tell him to… what? Come and pick you up so you can be an accomplice and help him bury his own uncle’s body that their friend killed? Because you want to be loyal to a meme?”
“I want to be loyal to my man,” she says, looking me right in the eye. “I’d do it for you, Bree.”
My shoulders slump as it hits me that I’d do it for her, too. I mean, I’d probably kill her myself, but I’d help her. And why shouldn’t I do the same for the man I love? I don’t think it’s as easy as that, and I don’t think Christina can get a life lesson from a stupid meme, but maybe I could try and be a ride or die chick. By that I don’t mean help bury any bodies, but maybe try and understand Sylar, and not judge him because of this situation. He’s helping his friend, just like I would help Christina. He’s being a loyal friend. It’s not like he killed anyone. He’s been dragged into this situation by whoever this Jack character is.
“He’s not answering,” she says, sounding put out.
“I wonder why,” I mutter sarcastically, rolling my eyes. He’s probably digging a six-foot hole somewhere, evading the cops.
“I guess we’ll just have to sit this one out,” she murmurs, sounding unhappy about it.
Realizing how truly crazy my best friend is, I sigh and say, “Do you remember the time I asked you to check on Snoop when he was a puppy, and instead of going to his crate to see if he was okay, you starting searching online to check if the rapper Snoop was okay instead?”
Christina makes a sound of amusement. “Hey, in my defence that was after a few drinks, and musicians need to be checked on too, okay.”
I laugh at her ridiculousness. “So you did an online search? You’re something else, Christina.”
“You love me,” she says, smiling.
I take a deep breath and thread my fingers over my stomach. “Those were much simpler times.”
“But would you go back to them?” she asks, looking me in the eye.
Would I go back to a life without Sylar, without the child inside of me?
Definitely not.
I shake my head.
“Exactly,” she says, picking up her phone. “So how about I do another online search, this time about how to bury a body without getting caught, while you make me some coffee?”
I grin and stand, heading to the kitchen to do as the crazy woman asks.
My crazy woman.
Chapter Eight
Hours later, Sylar and Spencer return. When Spencer sees Christina sitting next to me, he looks relieved to see her, but then flashes me a look, probably because he knows he now has some explaining to do. But that’s not exactly my fault.
Sylar too looks relieved to see me still here.
“I’m going to have a shower,” he says, looking like he wants to touch me, but refraining. His hand reaches out, but then he lets it lower, and he disappears upstairs to his bathroom.
When Christina straight out asks Spencer, “How did the body burying go?” I stand up and follow Sylar, not wanting to be here for that conversation. I sit on the bed and hear the shower turn on. Is he going to tell me everything that happened tonight? Do I want to know? What if the police come after him? I tap my foot anxiously. Just how is this situation going to play out? And what does he want from me? No, more importantly, what does Sylar need from me right now? When he takes a long time in the shower, I push the door open and stick my head in. He’s standing with his palms flat against the tiles, head lowered, water running down his face.
“Sylar?” I say, stepping into the bathroom and opening the glass shower door. “Are you okay?”
He lifts his head, as if a trance has been broken, then looks towards me. He looks miserable, his eyes filled with pain and remorse. He might say he doesn’t care about what happened tonight, but it clearly has an effect on him—he wouldn’t be human if it didn’t.
“It’s okay,” I say to him, grabbing the fluffy white towel and holding it open for him, like you would for a small child. He turns off the water and steps onto the white mat. I wrap the towel around him, with his help, and then lift up on my tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his wet lips. He’s vulnerable, and I’ve never seen him like this before.
“What can I do?” I ask, wanting to fix this, to make the situation better. I don’t like seeing him like this.
“You’re still here,” he says, wiping his face and hair but keeping his eyes locked on mine.
“I promised I’d stay,” I answer, crossing my arms over my chest. Did he think I’d leave? Run away from the situation, from him? Don’t get me wrong, I might have left the house tonight, but I wouldn’t have left him. I might not know all of Sylar, but the pieces I do know are good. He’s only ever shown me that side, and that’s what I’m going to go by.
“Is that the only reason?” he asks, sadness passing through his beautiful blue eyes.
“It’s not every day a woman has to deal with a situation like that one, Sylar,” I say, licking my lips. Understatement of the fucking year. “I need to know what happened tonight.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to know details, but everything has been dealt with.”
“Sylar—”
“No, Brielle,” he says, his voice strong, and I know he won’t change his mind. “You don’t need to hear about it. I don’t want you to, so please don’t ask me again.”
“Where’s Jack?” I ask, changing the subject. While I’m not done pressing him on the subject, I will let it go for now. I don’t want to upset him any more than he clearly is.
“He’s staying at a hotel.” Finishing with the towel, he hangs it back up. Naked, he walks into the bedroom, and I follow, sitting on the bed and watching as he puts on a pair of grey s
weat pants. He doesn’t bother with a T-shirt. “He won’t be dropping by unexpectedly again.”
“So he’s a friend of yours?” I ask, curious about their relationship.
“He was,” he says, nodding once, slowly. “I haven’t seen him in years, to be honest. But yes, I guess you could say that growing up he was a close friend of mine. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“Did you grow apart?”
“Jack got locked up for a few years,” he says, sitting down next to me. “And we kind of lost contact after that. He was in and out of prison, and started dealing drugs.” He clears his throat and adds, “Not that what I was doing was much better.”
Jack has been to prison? How unsurprising.
I reach up and start to comb the tangles out of his hair with my fingers. He closes his eyes, enjoying my touch, and I let him have a moment of peace before I continue asking him questions.
“What happens now?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” he says, opening his eyes. “I don’t think anyone will find the body. We don’t have any other family, so there’s no one really to tell. My uncle’s team of men will probably just leave when he doesn’t return and isn’t there to pay them.”
This whole thing is so bizarre.
Sylar puts his hand on my stomach and whispers, “Sorry for upsetting you today, baby.”
“Are you talking to me or the baby?”
He raises his eyes to me and grins wolfishly. “The baby.”
I climb into bed and get under the covers, and he does the same, bringing my body flush against his.
“I’m sorry for everything that happened tonight,” he says against my temple. “My past keeps trying to find me and drag me back down, no matter how hard I try and fight it.”
“Are you ever going to tell me everything about your past?” I ask in a soft tone.
“Do you think it defines me?” he asks, stilling.
“No.” I drag out the word. “I don’t think it defines who you are today. I think it would have shaped you a certain way though, don’t you? Even if it just taught you the person that you know you don’t want to be.”
“So wise for someone so young,” he murmurs, kissing the apple of my cheek. “Brielle?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes closing of their own accord, weariness taking over me.
“It means everything that you stayed.”
“I’ll always stay, Sylar,” I reply, before falling asleep.
The thing about words is, when you say them you might mean them, you might mean them with everything you have inside of you, but circumstances change.
Words change.
Actions change.
And as it happens, I wouldn’t always stay.
*****
I wake up to Sylar kissing down my stomach, and I know it’s going to be a good morning. Biting my hip, he pulls my panties down and then replaces them with his mouth, gently licking. Moaning softly, I look down at him as his head dips with each lick, the pleasure as his tongue flicks all-consuming.
“Sylar,” I whisper, smiling and closing my eyes as he sucks on my clit. My back arches off the bed and my hands grip the sheets, nails digging into them. Christina once told me that men are generally good with their hands and mouth or their cock; I’m lucky that my man is talented with all of the above.
He lifts his head and flashes his teeth at me before sliding his pants down, his hard cock jutting out in front of him. I lick my lips, all other thoughts leaving my mind except Sylar and how badly I want him. He grins as he climbs up the bed and pins my arms above my head with one hand.
“Good morning,” he whispers before his mouth slams down on mine and he slides into me.
Good fucking morning indeed.
I moan against his lips, kissing him back hungrily as he thrusts inside me, slow and deep, a delicious grind that has me so wet I can actually feel it on my thighs. When he pulls out of me, and rolls to the side and pulls my back against his chest, spooning me whilst he’s still inside of me, I thrust back against him gently. His hands reach over to play with my breasts, teasing the nipple through the thin material of my T-shirt. Lifting it up, baring my breasts, he continues the sweet torture, pinching one nipple then the other. I groan and whisper his name, becoming louder when he lowers his hand to play with my clit. My orgasm hits me out of nowhere, with no warning whatsoever, and for those few moments of ecstasy, it consumes me, the pleasure radiating from my centre, spreading to my thighs and lower belly. He continues to fuck me slowly, whispering my name as he comes. With a soft kiss to the back of my neck, he pulls out of me and rolls me onto my back, looking deep into my eyes.
“You are so beautiful in the morning.”
“Just in the morning?” I tease, arching a brow.
His lip twitches. “Fishing for compliments today?”
“Always,” I fire back, making him laugh.
“You’re always beautiful, Brielle. I’ve never seen anything like you.”
I study him for a moment, our eyes locked, and then I lift my head to kiss him.
I say with the kiss the words I can’t vocalise.
He may think that I’m beautiful, but I think he is everything.
Chapter Nine
“Spencer is the ninth guy I’ve slept with,” Christina says, painting her toenails a bright red. “And number nine is both of our favourite number. Don’t you think that it’s meant to be?”
I roll my eyes at my best friend. “That’s the first thing you say to me this morning? How about what happened last night with Spencer? Did you get any body-burying details?”
“Not really,” she says, closing the nail polish bottle. “I started asking questions but then he….” She trails off. “Wait a minute. He distracted me with sex! That scheming bastard!”
“So you didn’t get any information?” I probe, laughing at the expression on her face.
“He just said that they took care of it,” she says, tapping her finger on her chin. “And then he took care of me.”
I shake my head at her. “So easily distracted, Christina. All someone has to do is swing a penis at you, and you lose all coherent thought.”
“Not someone,” she huffs. “It needs to be a man. Not like a woman with a strap-on, or something. If a woman swung that at me, I’d grab it off her and hit her over the head with it.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Where does she come up with this shit? “Just any man, hey?”
“Just Spencer,” she corrects, then adds, “Or Jason Momoa.”
“Or anyone with a beard,” I insert.
We both start laughing like that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever said.
“What’s so funny?” Sylar asks as he walks into the room, his eyes eating me up before flicking to Christina. “Where’s Spencer?”
“He left,” she says, shrugging. “Something about Jack.”
Oh right, I almost forgot about the infamous Jack.
Sylar brings his gaze back to me. “Do you need anything? Have you eaten?”
I nod. “I had some toast.”
“That’s it?” he asks, brow furrowing. “Message me if you want anything, I’ll bring something back. Whatever you want.”
“Why, where are you going?” I stand and approach him. “Is everything okay with the whole… situation? And when does Sebastian get back?”
I shift on my feet awkwardly. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to repeat what happened last night out loud. At least not to him. If I say it out loud, it makes it real. I’m kind of pretending that nothing happened. Weak? Maybe. But to be honest, I don’t know what else to do. I’m glad I have Christina here to navigate through this bizarre time with, but the woman doesn’t seem to be fazed by anything, including dead uncles. Sebastian went back home to sort his life out, pack up, and return. I miss having the guy around.
“Yeah,” he says, bringing me gently closer to his body. “I’m going to go and see what those two are up to. And Sebastian should be back in
a week or two. Call me if you want anything in particular.” He looks to Christina and adds, “You too.”
“I get pregnancy privileges? Awesome,” she says, smiling widely. “I’ll start putting together a list.”
He kisses me on my forehead and then leaves the house.
“Surely getting away with murder isn’t this easy,” Christina says, tilting her head to the side. “Maybe we should follow him.”
“Follow Sylar?”
The thought is appealing, just because I want to know what those three are up to.
“I like this idea, but I don’t know if we’re stealthy enough to pull it off. Also, he’s probably pulling out of the driveway right now.”
“I’m stealthy as fuck,” she says, standing up. “I’ve been stalking my boyfriends and ex-boyfriends for different reasons ever since I started dating.”
I blink slowly. “You know you’re fucking crazy, right?”
She nods. “How about we plan for it, and next time we can follow them. We need to borrow someone’s car though. Who can we ask? Or maybe we should just take a taxi. I doubt anyone would suspect a taxi.”
I arch a brow. “Where are we going to find a taxi driver who is going to follow someone for us? I really don’t think that’s in their job description.”
However, as the words leave my mouth, I realise that I do know someone who would be up for something like that.
“Fred!” Christina and I say at the same time, sharing an excited glance.
Fred is a customer of mine, and a local taxi driver. He’s a genuine, great guy, and he loves us, so I’m sure we could rope him into helping us with a little investigative work. It’s not like we’re hurting anyone, and it would just be like a normal fare for him.
She rubs her hands together like she’s mentally concocting an evil scheme. Which to be fair, she probably is. “Okay, I’ll speak to Fred.”
See No Evil: Part Two Page 5
