The Animal Under The Fur

by E. J. Mellow

  Have I?

  “Yes, don’t mind us,” Olivia chimes in.

  “We’re fine,” 3 says evenly. “We’re not that kind of couple.”

  “Pshh, stop.” Olivia waves a hand. “Everyone is that kind of couple in the beginning. Go on. Kiss each other already.”

  3 and I flinch, the words ice to my balls.

  “Yes.” Liam nods. “Get it out of your systems. We won’t mind.”

  “Like I said,” 3 tries again, her voice now edged with a bit of frost, “we’re fine.”

  But neither of our blond friends seem to catch on, for they begin to quietly chant “kiss, kiss, kiss” until it feels like the entire restaurant is turning our way.

  I want to yell shut up, possibly punch Liam in the face, but both options would cause a scene, so instead I look to Akoni and Jules for help.

  But I should have known I’d find none there, for Jules has joined in on the chant, a Jack Frost mischief grin spread across her face, while Akoni bounces his gaze between 3 and me, wide eyed and at a loss.

  Breathing heavy, my blood swirls a havoc in my veins while I claw for a way out of this, of what to do next, and chancing a glance at 3, find equal terror on her face. She turns to me, blue eyes round and saying don’t you dare.

  I’m frozen for a moment, the chanting only growing louder.

  “Kiss, kiss, kiss.”

  Do I…dare?

  I know they won’t stop until we concede, and to save ourselves from this humiliation, we must act upon another. So even though I might get stabbed for doing it, I go for the ripping-off-of-a-Band-Aid approach and grab the back of 3’s neck, bringing her forward. There’s an instant of resistance before her soft lips collide with mine, but then it’s gone because I’m already pulling away, leaning back in my chair, a gasp of air escaping me like a drowned man breaking the surface.

  It was an instant, not even a second of time, hardly felt the contact, but my heart still pounds like a jackrabbit’s foot, my skin sweaty, and I refuse to turn to 3, too fearful of what expression, or weapon, I might find pointing my way.

  “Aw, boo,” Liam moans. “That was rubbish. Kiss her like you love her, Ben.” He pounds on the table.

  Jesus, where are we? On a fucking Viking ship?

  “Yeah,” Jules says, mimicking his table slap. “Let’s consummate this thing!”

  I’ve never wished to be a Jedi more than in this moment, for I would throw Jules straight across the—

  Cool hands grasping my cheeks and jerking my face to the right cut off my thoughts as I collide with 3’s blue gaze again. She holds me still for a moment, her eyes playing through a multitude of thoughts as, time slowing, she leans in. And it’s in this instant, this small gap between her and me, that I get a glimpse of what it must be like to have her senses, for whether it’s her heartbeat or mine, a loud thump has filled my ears, and her subtle scent of female and coconut overwhelms my lungs on a deep inhale. A distant part of me thinks that if this is to be my last breath, I’m okay with that, drawing it out, savoring it, right before her eyes flutter close, and she kisses me.

  And this time neither of us pulls away.

  Feeling her invite, her allowance, my hand grazes up her smooth neck to hold her in place and tangle in her thick mane. I inch closer as my body hums with energy, overflows with the desires I’ve been locking up for so many days, too many nights. Her mouth opens to mine, the soft prodding of her tongue setting more kindle to this pyre of flames, and I completely forget that we’re in public because 3, for as prude and cold as she comes across, can kiss. Good forest nymphs, can she kiss, and I greedily take in whatever she gives, her plump lips molding to mine. More, I silently demand. Give me everything, I encourage with my tightening grip.

  But right as I’m on the precipice of a moan, I’m dropped back to earth, 3 loosening her hold and moving away. With a blink, the world goes from a deep midnight of touch and sighs to a bright cold day, and I sit frozen, watching as the room comes back into focus even though I remain a pixelated blown-apart mess.

  3 kissed me.

  I kissed 3.

  And I liked it.

  41

  Nashville

  The cool night air can’t filter into my lungs fast enough as I push outside. The darkness is loud, the surrounding mountains alive as my overactive senses try separating the buzz of insects from the rustling of leaves and chatter of the guests in the restaurant. After I held it together for a full five minutes, I made the excuse that I needed to use the bathroom.

  As I stood, each step slow, controlled, my body screamed to run, escape from what Carter and I…

  I can’t even bring myself to think it, my brain wanting to skip over the moment while my skin still surges from the memory.

  What’s happening?

  It was just a kiss.

  A stupid kiss while on the job.

  I’ve had to unfortunately do that countless times, sometimes the allure of a woman the only weapon against men. But this…this felt different. Was different.

  After Carter grabbed me for a quick, chaste peck, I sat there, stunned for a hanging second, barely hearing our companions whining, saying how horrible that was, that they won’t accept it. And something in me snapped, something cornered, desperate to silence them without resorting to stabbing anyone in the neck, so with hardly a thought I took it upon myself to give them what they wanted.

  And then…

  And then it all went to shit.

  Because now I’m here feeling. And I am not a woman accustom to feeling anything besides the lick of anger, of rage that constantly swims in my veins.

  That I know.

  That I can work with.

  Was born with.

  But this other thing…even with Christopher Waters it was like I was experiencing it buried deep within the earth. But with Carter…I’ve never felt closer to the sun.

  Fuck.

  I run a hand down my face as I pace to the end of the stone patio, my night vision painting the cresting mountains in front of me in shades of silver.

  How could I have known I’d react in such a way, when for so long nothing but detached blood has pumped through my heart?

  Where’s my apathy? My ability to shut everything down? To keep my emotions, which are so dangerous to set free, suppressed?

  I don’t have to glance back to the warm glow of the restaurant to know it was left in a smattered mess across our dining table.

  “Stephanie,” a man calls behind me, and though I stiffen at the sound, I don’t stop from striding away. “Nashville.”

  Nashville.

  A name for someone else, a name for the woman not meant to be here.

  “Don’t call me that.” I turn with a glare.

  Carter peers around the empty hillside. “No one heard me.”

  “I did.”

  A frown before, “Okay.” Taking hesitant steps forward, his tall, broad-shouldered form blocks out some of the stars. “Are you…are you okay?”

  “Are you?” I throw the question back with an arch of my brow.

  He lets out a deep sigh, raking a hand through his thick brown hair, his charcoal shirt growing tight across his chest with the movement. “What happened in there—”

  “Didn’t matter,” I finish for the both of us.

  His green gaze flickers my way, a small dip to the side of his mouth, the same mouth I can still feel against mine.

  “We had to keep up our profiles,” I find myself saying. “We’re married. It was going to happen sooner or later.”

  It. Not the kiss. Not the seconds where my chest filled with warm pleasure. Just it.

  “Yes…” Carter says after a moment.

  “We don’t have to talk about it,” I go on. “In fact, it’s probably best if we didn’t. We know how we feel about each other. No need to rub in our disgust.”

  Carter doesn’t respond, merely watches me, his expression shuttering over with a blankness.

  Good, I think. This is bett
er. This is how we get back to how we were.

  “I’m going to search the compound,” I say, glancing over my shoulder into the dimly lit path that leads back to our bungalow. “Rodrigo, he was smooth, but he’s definitely hiding something. You can join…or not, whatever, but I just…I have to go.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “What?” I turn to find Carter’s green firestorm pinned to me, his darkly handsome planes and angles heightened in the night.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Enjoy…” My voice dies out as his earlier words float forward… You will enjoy at least one thing while at Viento del Este.

  I let out a small gasp. “Screw you. This isn’t some game!”

  But before I can move away, Carter pulls me flush against him, keeping my arms secured to my sides so I can’t strike out, his cinnamon and male hugging me closer. “I’m not making a joke,” he says, his voice gruff, firm, as he peers down. “I want to know. And if it makes it easier for you, I did. I enjoyed the fuck out of it.”

  It.

  His gaze dips to my mouth, eyes hungry, and my stomach drops out, melts into a puddle.

  No. No. No. He can’t. I can’t.

  “Let me go,” I say, knowing I could easily escape with one bone-breaking head butt to his nose, but seeing the way he’s looking at me, a canister of oil precariously close to a flame, has me realizing he won’t stop unless it’s of his own volition.

  “Please,” I add, barely a whisper, and as if that word is a rainstorm on his head, he instantly releases me, taking a step back.

  Running two hands through his hair this time, he faces the shadows, hiding whatever expression mars his features. “Go.”

  One word, not a demand or a plea, just…go.

  So I do, quickly. I run, sprint, until my sandaled feet begin to blister and I’m off the lit path, deep in the jungle where only predators dare to roam at night.

  My family.

  Leaning on my knees, I gasp for air, not because I’m out of breath, but because it feels like the other version of myself, the only one meant for this assignment, is being drowned, taken over, and replaced by something else. Something new.

  Something that enjoys.

  And only for the second time in my life—the first when I was left to fend for myself on the streets, a baby—I become truly terrified.

  42

  3

  VIENTO DEL ESTE PLANTACION, MEXICO: 0230 HOURS.

  The bungalow is quiet as I enter, the sun not set to rise for another four hours. I silently maneuver around the dimly lit space. Carter’s bedside lamp has been left on, throwing half the room in a warm yellow while his large form lies motionless tucked under the covers, his back to my side of the bed. Peeling off my black durable outerwear and unhooking my knives, I slip into my pajamas and then into the cool sheets, where I stare up at the wooden slatted ceiling.

  I wasn’t planning on coming back here tonight, intending to keep searching the compound until the sun rose. But as each warehouse and outpost within a five-mile radius proved empty, innocuous, my resolve turned to fatigue, and I realized how ridiculous it would be if I didn’t return. It would only prove how truly affected I was. So with muscles sore from climbing, running, and lifting, I headed back.

  We have one more day here, but I have a feeling it will prove just as useless. Despite the unease I felt in Rodrigo’s answer about Ramie, this plantation appears to be exactly as it’s advertised—a coffee plantation, and I huff my frustration. The lack of leads we’ve run into on this assignment are record breaking.

  “Find anything?” Carter’s deep voice rumbles from his side of the bed.

  I turn against my pillow, taking in his large, strong back, the peppered scars pale against his tanned skin. “No. You?”

  I know he went out. Could smell the sweet scent of the jungle on his clothes hanging in the bathroom. Caught hints of his cinnamon as I crisscrossed through the trees.

  “No,” he says, and as the room slowly dips back into silence, he reaches up and snaps off the light, a wordless close to any further conversation, and I feel slight relief.

  We won’t be talking about it then, which is good. Despite what therapists spout, ignoring something long enough does in fact make it disappear. I should know. I’ve done more than my fair share of avoidance.

  Yet as I lie awake, my darkness bright, always lit by sounds, shadows, and scents, I find myself grazing a finger over my bottom lip, wondering how to ignore something when, at the end of each day, you find it lying next to you.

  43

  3

  CUETZALAN, MEXICO: 1936 HOURS

  It’s been another week of nothing. No blips of nefarious activity, glimpses of a certain tall, dark, and handsome coffee prince, or tip-offs that we’re close to finding anything.

  It’s also been a week of Carter and I remaining professionally indifferent, what happened at Viento del Este never mentioned again, never tried again. Even Jules and Akoni have developed amnesia to that night. Probably because after taking one look at us the following day, with our shuttered gazes and stiff postures, knew certain lines had been drawn, and not even they were allowed to cross them. So as the four of us sit in their hotel room back in Cuetzalan, recently ending a call with Ploom and Axel, in which they updated us on the board’s impatience for us to make some headway, it almost appears like everything has gone back to the way it was.

  Except it hasn’t.

  What once came as easy digs and banter between Carter and I have now dissolved into thick silences and platitudes. If he says something, I wait for another to comment before I do. If I say something he disagrees with, he leaves it at that, that he disagrees. No snarky retort or filthy innuendos.

  I should be happy. Should be relieved. For isn’t this how I wanted our operation to be since the beginning? Isn’t this how my assignments usually go? In and out. No pleasantries or how are yous. Just a target to be found, finished, so I can get home fast.

  But now that I know how it could be different, how we were different—this here, him and I not looking at one another since stepping into the room, feels faker than the name written on my passport.

  How many versions of a person can be maintained? Work 3. Home Nash. Victoria O’Hera. Stephanie Keller. Married Stephanie Keller Nickels. And now this other me, the one changing while trying to remain the same. It’s exhausting, and this is coming from a person with superhuman stamina.

  Where’s my friggin’ vacation when I need it?

  “Where are you going?” Akoni lifts his head from his computer as I walk to the door, his blue shirt that reads i > u stretching across his large chest. We’ve been preparing a camping expedition to head back to the lake where we saw the drug drop. Out of everything, that’s the one grain of constructive intel we’ve been able to gather since coming here.

  “A walk,” I say.

  “Want one of us to come with?” Jules asks from where she’s sitting cross-legged on one of their twin beds, thin cream sweater and yoga pants in place. I don’t miss her steal a glance toward Carter.

  He’s been standing by the balcony window since we ended our call, staring out to the dark alley below. His legs are encased in black jeans, and a gray thermal shirt hugs over his torso and arms that are crossed at his chest. If he’s heard any of us speak, he doesn’t show it.

  “No,” I say. “Feel like being alone for a bit.”

  A mumbled grunt, which sounded like “Surprise, surprise,” comes from Carter.

  I frown. “Mind saying that a bit louder?”

  He slowly turns his head, a bored expression marking his features as he meets my gaze. “Say what louder?”

  I pin my eyes to his green ones.

  Ten seconds pass.

  Twenty.

  Say what you want to say, I silently invite.

  You first, sweetheart.

  Akoni clears his throat, and I blink back to the room.

  “Anyone want anything?” I ask, my voice tight.
Jules and Akoni shake their heads. Carter wordlessly returns to gazing out the window.

  With one hand curling into a fist, I swing open the door and all too easily leave.

  The mango juice flows across my tongue as I bite into the fruit that’s set up like a popsicle on a stick, the delicious tangy flavors caressing my taste buds.

  Walking through the lantern-lit cobblestone streets, I visited one of my favorite produce stands before setting out toward the main square. I have a desire to sit by the tall clock tower connected to the Church of San Francisco and people watch. The night is cool and sleepy, so I take the longer route, traveling down the narrow and winding alleys filled with old ladies and men standing in doorways, talking to one another, a few watering vibrant flowers and plants that mark each of their stone homes.

  I smile at a few as I pass, realizing by the third that I’m doing something I would never have done before. I’m taking a moment for me…while on a job. My steps slow as I realize this. No part of the assignment had filled my head as I left Jules and Akoni’s hotel, no plan that included finding new information, searching a new location. I merely wanted to walk…relax.

  I frown, staring at the half-eaten fruit in my hands before finding a nearby garbage bin and tossing it in.

  It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not.

  Jamming my hands into my jeans pockets, I walk with new purpose toward the clock tower. Once there I’ll see if there’s anything amiss, anything different.

  But as I turn down another set of narrow stairs, passing a dark alley, I catch the scent of something familiar.

  My scalp prickles as a spicy caress of a hand-rolled cigarette wafts toward me from the blackness. I turn to look down the alley, the end bending away from my view, and every muscle goes on alert, the hairs on my neck rising.