“I didn’t do anything.” My lip curls of its own accord.
“You saved me.” Her chin stubbornly sticks out.
“Not me.” My chuckle is dark, and her face falls. “It was all Alex. He knew something wasn’t right. Thank him.”
Her face hardens. “Right. You probably wanted to leave me there. So wrong of me to assume that you genuinely wanted to save my life. Thank God Alex was there.” Her voice is bitter and full of sarcasm, and I have the horrible urge to tell her the truth—that it was the second time in my life I was so scared I couldn’t breathe. But no. Let her think it was Alex. Hewasthe one who called me and said that something might be wrong at the diner.
She moves to leave, but I grab her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.
“I never wanted you dead.” My voice is barely above a whisper as I let the words tumble out.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she declares shakily, trying to pull her arm from me, but I grip tighter.
“Believe it.”
She stops struggling against my hold and lifts her eyes. “What happened, Justin?”
I clench my jaw. “You were tied up in a burning building.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know that. What happened that made you hate me so much?”
That question, passing so innocently over her lying lips, always drives me insane. I come closer to her and spit through gritted teeth: “Stop fucking with me. You know what happened. Own your shit.” Her face is ashen. “Never fucking ask me that question again. I’m done playing this game with you acting so fucking innocent.Done,” I roar as she rears back. “Do you understand? Never open your mouth again around me.” I lean closer, her signature strawberry smells assaulting my nostrils, and repeat, “Never.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and I hate to see them.
And I love to see them.
I’m a sick bastard.
One fat tear escapes her blurred eyes and runs down her cheek. I follow its trail and start feeling like complete shit before the recent encounter with Mark pops into my head. And just like that, I’m sober from any emotions that might make me do something stupid like rush and comfort her.
Refusing to let myself bend for her, I back away toward the door. “If you know what’s good for you, stay away from me. Make sure you’re not around when I’m with Freya or Alex.”
Then I turn and get the hell out of that place, because I don’t want to see the cascade of tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
ChapterFive
KAYLA
Every time. Every damn time I’m close to solving that messed-up puzzle, something happens. And by “something,” I mean Justin going off the rails. Just like right now. A weird moment of… dare I say…care? He stormed in demanding to know why I keep my door unlocked. I don’t know why; I just always have. But he’s right—given recent events, I should be more careful. You never know who might decide to visit our sleepy town in Middle of Nowhere, Maine.
I try to wipe away the tears, but they just keep burning my eyes like acid. I meant what I said: I think he wanted me dead. No matter how petty it sounds, I still do. Yes, I know I sound like a hormonal teenager, but there’s no mistaking the hatred emanating from his pores when he’s in proximity to me—it’s palpable in the air, heavy with pent-up hatred waiting to be unleashed, and when it is, it will be hell. For the both of us, I think, because there is no way that sort of hatred would leave him unscathed.
I really have no idea why he dragged me out of the fire. He must still have some decency where I’m concerned buried deep down—way, way down.
I take a few shuddering breaths as the door once more swings open. Ready to fight, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I see a familiar figure—a friendly one—standing where Justin had disappeared into the night without a second look, smacking the door on his way out.
“Hey, Mark,” I croak, my voice wobbling.
“He stopped by, didn’t he?” Mark’s low, smoky voice washes over me like a calming pill. “I just saw him at the bar.”
I try to discreetly wipe my still-streaming eyes and smile but fail miserably. “Yeah.” I let out a watery laugh as I choke out my response.
“Why does he do that to you?” His face reflects the genuine puzzlement I’ve felt for years.
“I wish I knew.” I wipe my nose, not bothering with how I must look. Not with Mark. He’s known me since we were kids, living at the trailer park. He’s four years older, and even as a child, he was always the protector for anyone who needed it—and always paid for it, though I’ve never heard him complain. You can’t stick your neck out for somebody from the wrong side of the town without repercussions.
“It can’t be that night. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He clicks his tongue resolutely, like there’s nothing else to it, and it sounds weirdly cute.
