Dangerous Lovers

by Becca Vincenza

  The last stop on his tour was my room, which had a view of the sea. It was a large room with a queen-sized bed, luxurious bedding, and an adjoining bath that was made up of natural stone and contemporary fixtures.

  “Well, what do you think?” he said, watching me gaze around the room.

  “It’s the most beautiful place I’ll ever see.”

  He grinned. “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “It took me years to get this place like this.”

  “Most people wouldn’t have had the time and the money,” I said, running my hand over the ultra-soft and thick comforter.

  “I guess being a Death Escort has some advantages.”

  The coldness in his tone had me looking up. He thought I was insulting him. In truth, I’d been thinking out loud.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

  “What, then? Were you trying to remind me what you think about my money and how I earned it?”

  “No.” I defended. “I—” I stopped trying to explain myself and sighed. “It was just a comment, a slip of the tongue. I don’t have to remind you what you do. You remind yourself enough on your own.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “The truth is you’re a Death Escort. You kill people. Repeatedly. I’m just trying to figure out if that’s something I can live with.”

  “Something you can live with?” he repeated. “Are you saying you thought of me and you… together?”

  “I—well—” Words failed me. I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe I was suffering from a major case of jetlag. I have no idea what would possess me to say that stuff out loud.

  Well, no. I did know what it was. It was the pull, the attraction that was always there between us. It was the swirl of energy that seemed to only encompass him and me when we were in the same room. It was the beat of butterfly wings inside my stomach and the way my skin vibrated beneath his touch. Hadn’t he felt those things too?

  The way he kissed me, the way his fingers reached for mine… the way he sometimes whispered the truths that lay deep inside him. I wasn’t making those things up. The electricity between us was so thick I could almost scoop it out of the air. Why would he pretend it wasn’t there?

  “So is it?” he said. His tone sounded weird and it broke through my inner monologue of panic. “Is what I do something you could live with?”

  I wanted to say yes. I wanted to know without a doubt that I could look him in the eyes every day when he came home and not wonder about who he killed that day, who he plotted against. I wish I wouldn’t have to think about the person he was taking away from loved ones, tearing an entire family apart with a senseless death.

  I looked up. “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “Don’t look so upset,” he replied, his voice even. “It isn’t like we have a future together anyway. There is no happily ever after for someone like me. There is only death.”

  He turned and left the room then, exiting so quietly and quickly that it was almost like he’d never been there at all.

  But even if my eyes and ears were fooled by his departure, the rest of me wasn’t. My heart would bear the marks from those words, the echo of finality in them, forever.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Storm - an atmospheric disturbance manifested in strong winds accompanied by rain, snow, or other precipitation and often by thunder and lightning.”

  Charming

  The minute we drove onto the Mainland, here on the Shetland Islands, I felt like a weight the size of a walrus was lifted off my chest. I wasn’t sure how long it was since I visited here last—a year, maybe two? But even after all that time, it still felt like home to me. It felt that way from the very first time I came here on some job for G.R. to escort a Target. After the job was done, I stayed on and bought a house, a house that took me years and years to remodel. It was probably the only thing I’ve done in the past ninety years that gave me any pleasure.

  The pull to come here had been stronger than ever before. I wanted to feel linked to something, something other than the job—something other than death. Something that was mine and no one else’s. That was why I should have stayed away. It was an assault to my already confused senses. My only excuse was that being around Frankie was seriously messing with my head.

  And with my heart.

  I reached up and rubbed the spot in the center of my chest where the organ that pumped blood throughout my body lay just below my ribs. It felt weird. Almost like it hurt.

  I dropped my hand and rummaged around through the kitchen cabinets, looking for the antacid tablets. It was probably just heartburn.

  Crunching on the chalky tablets, I glanced at the clock. It was afternoon, still too early for dinner, which was a good thing because I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t feel like cooking. Frankie was still out of sight, likely off snooping through the house. I hadn’t seen her since she told me she thought about us beyond a temporary annoying relationship.

  The words caught me off guard. I knew she was attracted to me; her body responded every time I touched her and the pounding of her heart did not fall on deaf ears. Still, hearing she even considered anything more was just unsettling.

  She wasn’t the first girl to ever have feelings for me or imagine a future together. It happened all the time, because I wanted it to. Making a woman fall in love with me or so close to it was my job. It’s what I did. Hell, a couple times I’d gone so far as to propose marriage. But those times were different. This was different.

  I never tried to make Frankie feel anything other than hate for me.

  But she did. She admitted as much.

  I was just too charming for my own good.

  I moved away from the kitchen and into the great room, where I knelt in front of the stone fireplace and lit the kindling already laid out in the hearth. It wasn’t cold here, but it was chilly, and after coming from L.A. the extra warmth was needed.

  I didn’t want feelings between Frankie and me. I didn’t want anything from her other than for her to stay out of my business.

  That’s not true, something inside me whispered.

  I rubbed at my chest again. Those damn pills weren’t helping.

  I accepted my solitary existence. It suited me. Trying for anything more would just end badly.

  I heard her soft footfalls coming toward me and the muscles in my body tightened, getting ready to face her anger.

  “Is there a path or road that will lead down toward the coast?”

  She was asking me about a walking path? She didn’t want to yell at me? I stood away from the fire and looked at her. She wasn’t scowling. She didn’t look like she was going to throw something at my head. She was calm.

  Well, this was different.

  “Yeah, it might be a bit overgrown. It’s a couple miles, though, to get down by the water.”

  “That’s okay. I feel like walking.”

  “I should probably go with you. The ground is a bit uneven and if the path is overgrown, you might get lost.”

  She looked slightly alarmed at the mention of me tagging along, but she covered up the look very quickly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want to have to come looking for you when you get lost,” I growled, irritation running rampant through my veins. Was I that easy to get over, then? Did my rebuff not affect her at all?

  “I won’t get lost with this giant house to use as my reference.”

  “Fine. Go.” Time away from her would likely do me some good anyway. “The path starts behind the house.”

  She nodded and left without another word.

  I picked up a book written by Mark Twain and sat down, determined not to think about her anymore.

  An hour later, a heavy rainstorm seemed to appear out of nowhere. The blue in the sky was taken over by angry dark clouds and swirling winds.

  I smirked at the idea of her getting rained on even as my ears listened for her retreat back into the house.

  N
ot too much later, thunder rolled overhead and the rain began to fall in a downpour. She still wasn’t back. Worry crept into me, and I put the book down and looked out the window, overlooking the direction the path would have taken her.

  Through the heavy rain, I saw her, a moving spot maybe half a mile from the house. She was moving quickly, trying to get out of the storm.

  And then she fell, her body disappearing completely from sight.

  A low swear tripped out of my mouth and before I knew it, I was grabbing a slicker off the hook by the door and racing out into the storm. As I went, lightning lit up the sky, creating an angry electric streak that bolted toward the ground. The crack of thunder that followed left a hollow ringing in my ears.

  I picked up my pace, worrying she was hurt and lying there out in the open, vulnerable to the elements.

  “Frankie!” I yelled, my voice cutting through the gusting wind. My shirt and jeans were soaked in minutes, my shoes were saturated, and I felt like I was walking in a puddle. Wet grass slapped against my legs and water dripped into my eyes.

  I heard her call my name, the wind carrying the sound over to my ears. I ran faster, tapping into the reserve of energy my body always had, zipping over the wet grass across the slopping ground.

  I stopped when I saw her. She was trudging up one of the slight hills, mud and rain soaking her hair and body. She looked like a drowned cat.

  She was a few yards away when she saw me, her feet quickening their pace, but in her haste she slipped again.

  She flung out her arms, trying to steady herself, to catch some balance and not fall, but there was no use. The ground was too slick and the mud too slippery.

  I caught her around the waist just before she landed in a heap.

  “I told you not to come out here alone,” I snapped, pulling her back onto her feet.

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to come after me!”

  “Shut up!” I yelled, yanking the slicker down over her head and putting up the hood. My heart was still beating too fast from watching her fall before.

  “I’m already soaked,” she yelled over another rumble of thunder.

  I didn’t bother to reply. I knew she was soaked—we both were—but I felt like I had to do something. I tugged her hand to pull her along behind me, and she made a soft whimper in the back of her throat.

  I spun around, my eyes sweeping over her. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Her lips were turning an ugly shade of blue.

  “Don’t lie to me!” I yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders. Rain was pelting us from every angle and it felt like a million tiny needles against my skin.

  “I twisted my ankle.” Her shoulders sagged, like admitting she was hurt was somehow giving in and letting me win.

  Which it was. She should have listened to me in the first place.

  I turned around and crouched down, giving her my back. “Let’s go,” I called out.

  She hesitated only a moment before climbing onto my back and wrapping her arms and legs around me. “Hold on!”

  Even though I kind of liked having her wrapped around me, I moved quickly, trying to get us away from a storm that was far too violent.

  I let us into the mudroom, setting her on a wooden bench by the door and pushing the wet hair off my forehead.

  “Going off alone like that was stupid!” I burst out, anger ripping through me. Now that we were out of the rain and she was safe, I was going to let her have it.

  “I didn’t know it was going to downpour!” she yelled back.

  “You should have been more careful!”

  “Why are you yelling at me?” she shouted, yanking off the slicker and throwing it on the floor. She was streaked with mud and dirt and her teeth were beginning to chatter.

  My anger drained away like water in a sink. I knelt down and unlaced her ruined sneakers. “It’s hard not to yell at you,” I said gently.

  She snorted but then made a sound when I slipped her shoe away from the ankle that she twisted. It was red and slightly puffy, but it didn’t look too bad. I used a nearby towel to gingerly pat the water and mud off the sore part. “It doesn’t look that bad. Should be fine by morning. We’ll get some ice on it.”

  She didn’t say anything and when I looked up, I caught her staring at me, watching me with this strained look on her face.

  “Are you hurt somewhere else? Did you hit your head?” I reached up and fingered her scalp, searching for cuts.

  “I’m fine.” She caught my wrists and pulled them away from her head. “Why is it whenever I try to get away from you, I end up in your arms instead?”

  “Because you’re clumsy and pigheaded?” I offered.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You went out there to get away from me?” I asked seriously. Something in my stomach churned and that feeling in my chest was back.

  She pushed at her wet hair. “It’s easier that way, you know?” she said quietly. “Like you said, there is no future for us.”

  That’s why she went outside. Why she didn’t want me to go with her. I hurt her. Telling her that I didn’t want her actually hurt her feelings.

  Having power over another person’s emotions was always something I reveled in. But not now. Not this. It seemed like an awful lot to bear… I didn’t want the responsibility of knowing I could hurt her. Hell, I just ran out into a raging, angry storm after her to keep her from getting hurt. Now she tells me she was out there in the first place because of me.

  I dealt with her feelings the best way I knew how. Not at all.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  If the change in topic surprised her, she didn’t show it. “Yeah.”

  “Let’s get changed and I’ll make some spaghetti and you can ice that ankle.” I helped her up the stairs and into her room where she assured me she could manage, and so I left her, going to change into a dry pair of jeans and shirt.

  The fire was almost out so I added some more wood to it and then went to boil the water for the noodles. Frankie appeared when I was pulling a jar of sauce out of the cupboard. She grabbed some ice out of the freezer and hobbled over to the table and sat down, propping up her foot.

  “I don’t think it’s that bad. Barely hurts anymore.”

  I made a sound and added the noodles to the boiling water.

  We made small talk. Mostly she asked me about Scotland and I answered. The conversation stayed the same while we ate and the storm still raged outside. Underneath the light conversation, a tension was building. I didn’t know if she felt it too or if it was purely my own frustrations starting to come to a head, but it made me feel restless and moody.

  There was so much between us that wasn’t said, and the hurt I was responsible for would flash in her eyes every so often, there only long enough for me to recognize it before it was gone again. It was a relief when she went to bed, saying the events of the day had made her tired.

  I thought once she was gone and I was alone, the tension coiled inside me would lessen, that it would go away. It didn’t. It got worse. It was like being away from her made my body want to search for her.

  Maybe I should just admit it.

  I wanted her.

  I had feelings for her.

  Frankie made me feel.

  I growled in frustration. But even still, what I said earlier held true. There was no future for us; there couldn’t be.

  The next thing I knew I was standing in her doorway, peering into her dark room at the bed, wondering if she was asleep yet. She wasn’t in the bed. She was standing at the window, looking out at the moon. She was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top, an outfit that left little to the imagination.

  Lust slammed into me so quickly that I almost stumbled. The need to touch her, to claim her, almost had me across the room and pushing her onto the bed.

  But I held back, needing to tell her.

  “I’ve thought about it too.”

  She jumped, my voice sta
rtling her, and she turned, glancing at me over her shoulder through the dark.

  “Since the other night on the beach, I’ve thought of little else.” The more I did this talking thing, the easier it became. And when she looked at me like that, with her blue eyes wide like I was doing something extraordinary by just telling her what I was thinking, it made me want to make things up to say just so she would keep on looking at me.

  “Charming, I—”

  I held up my hand and she stopped. “I just wanted you to know that. I didn’t want you to think that I hadn’t thought of you at all. Because I have. You make me… feel. I thought I had bypassed that a long time ago. And that’s why we—why I can’t be with you. I can’t even think about being with you. Because it’s selfish. Because if I let you close to me, I would do what I do best. I would kill you.”

  “Charming, you would never kill me.”

  “Yes, I would. Just not the kind of killing I usually do. This kind would be slow. It would start with you pretending you were okay with who I am. I would take away pieces of you one by one until you were just like me: dead.”

  “Charming,” she whispered, taking a step toward me.

  “For the first time since becoming an Escort, I care if someone lives or dies,” I whispered. “I won’t kill you. I won’t take the only life I value on this earth away.”

  “If you had wanted to push me away, you should have told me I was fat, thrown me out of the house, or left me out there today in that storm. But what you just said… those words… all they did was pull me closer to you.”