“Yeah, honest,” I mumbled under my breath.
He took me into the kitchen, leading the way like he’d been here... twice before. “I think these things need water,” he said. “And I promise you, I’ve never told a lie.”
Leaning against the doorframe as he grabbed a large pint glass and filled it with water for the flowers, I shook my head. “One of the first things you told me was that you killed people.” I let out a laugh. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said, straight-faced. “It’s not like, everyone. I get paid to take people out. Usually heads of rival gangs, but sometimes businessmen. It’s really just whoever pays the most.”
“Shut up.” It was all I could muster. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Kitten,” he said, his face so soft when I knew just how punchable it could look—from the bruises and how many times his nose had been reset. “Don’t swear. Come on. I get that you’re mad, and I get that you think I was ghosting you, but I’d never. I—I really was in a hospital. It’s a—a secret one.” His voice turned quieter, and he looked around like someone was listening.
Jacques told me from the start he was honest, completely honest, and he’d never lie to me... but I thought he’d been crossing his fingers at the time because nobody can live without lying occasionally. “I need you to just tell me everything,” I said.
“Let’s go to your bedroom,” he said. “Play some music.”
***
It was so out there that it had to be true, or at least contain some form of the truth, and I could see the trace outline of where rashes had been leaching at the ink pigment from his tattoos, and inspecting further, where cannulas had been. My mind felt like it was going to explode with all the new information, and during it all he held me, cradled my head to his chest and stroked his fingers through my hair, like he’d been telling me a bedtime story.
“I feel free,” he whispered.
“Are you not allowed to talk about Sanc—” I began as he placed a finger to my lips and shook his head.
Fleetwood Mac continued to play through the TV speakers, but it made sense for him to be worried—albeit paranoid. And I knew there was some cross over with certain psychoses, but I had no choice but to believe him—he had been gone for ten days. If he’d just been wondering around playing pretend assassins through some induced psychotic episode, I might’ve expected even a butt dial from him.
“I don’t know if I was followed,” he whispered in my ear. “In all honesty, I was worried someone had found you and your connection to me, and it had put you in danger.”
I shook my head, rubbing it against the side of his face for a moment. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I told him. “I have someone on my side already.”
“You do?” he asked, brows coming together intensely. “Who?”
“I can’t say right now, but I will soon. I promise.”
He let out the gentlest of laughs. “I told you everything,” he whispered. “You mean to tell me you can’t let me in now?” His face hardened in a way that worried me, my belly turning slightly. “Nobody can protect you the way I can.”
“I can tell you, but it’s—”
“Just tell me.”
“The FBI.”
He laughed harder now, his entire chest vibrating and rocking me. “Oh, kitten, I can protect you better than them,” he said. “I’m guessing this has something to do with all those boxes you had in here?” He tilted his head. I hadn’t really accounted for how perceptive he was, I was just letting him use my body as a playground—and I was using his as an amusement park.
“It’s more than that,” I told him. “And I was going to tell you, if you’d picked up your damn phone.”
“Language, kitten.” He used it to disarm me. Saying it so often reminded me of the fun we had in this room, this apartment, during those long-extended dates.
“Sorry,” I said, resting my head against his chest again. “There’s something going on at the company I work at. You know, the whole NDA stuff, big pharma, yadda yadda. Anyway, I found something, a whole lot of something, and—” My throat tightened, recalling the box with the papers in. “You gotta promise this stays between us.”
He stared at me. It was an obvious answer, I knew that. I was being silly asking him. “I told you everything,” he said. “And if you don’t want to say anything, I’ll respect that. I just needed to know who you thought could protect you better than me.”
I wrapped an arm around his waist. I knew he could. All those muscles had to have a use. Even though they were covered with tattoos, I’d found exit and entry wounds from bullets, alongside knife wounds—the silvery marks of healing they produced were often a different texture. “The drugs the company is making are killing people,” I told him. “All of them.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, and it’s why I tried calling. I had all these crazy thoughts and conspiracies about you,” I said, snorting backlaughter now that I knew it wasn’t true—at least, I hoped not. My belief in this underground place was still rocky. “Part of me thought you worked for the company, that you were getting close to me to see what I knew. Then part of me thought you were just a dick, sorry, and just wanted to use me for sex.”
He stroked my head a little more. “I can’t say I’d never do that, because I’ve definitely used people for intimacy,” he whispered, tugging the zipper of his hoodie down. He wasn’t wearing a T-shirt, and his skin looked like its own graphic T-shirt. I laid my cheek to his skin now and listened to his heartbeat. “Since we’re being honest, I was in the tree outside your apartment. I fell into the poison leaves. Sumac. I think I was in some type of intensive care.”
