“It’s food O’clock,” Nitro added. Fucking terrible attempt at rhyming, but the only thing truly sharp about that asshole was his blades.
Her expression shifted, for a heartbeat hope washed over her features, but then Kane shoved the battered mixing bowl at her.
She cradled it in her hands, eyes staring down at the undercooked pasta smothered in cold sauce. Nitro leaned over, dropping a stale hunk of bread into the marinara.
“Orange light means you can take that shit off long enough to eat, or at least that’s what the ‘how to care for your medical freak Omega’ manual said.” This from Xander, who held back, leaning against the doorframe with his muscled arms crossed.
Lucy nodded slowly. Then, like an afterthought, whispered, “Thanks.”
“What was that?” Nitro leaned down, voice mocking. “Didn’t quite hear you.”
She took a deep breath and then tilted her face upward, eyes locking on Nitro.
“I said, “thanks.” This looks great. I can’t wait to eat.” It was obvious the words cost her, but Lucy kept her voice steady and her face neutral.
“Eat every bite,” Xander ordered. “Not everyone gets to taste Fallon’s food.”
“I only cook for people I hate,” Fallon said, coming up behind Xander and looking over his shoulder. “That list is short.”
Lucy flinched. For some reason, Fallon implying he hated her was worse than the bullshit food.
“Room service is closed for the day.” Nitro reached out, rapping his knuckles against her helmet visor.
She leaned away from him, eyes going wide. For a fleeting second, a ripple of guilt cut through my gut. I hadn’t said anything; I’d just watched. But that didn’t mean I was better than my brothers giving her hell.
When we’d left Lucy to eat, Nitro had elbowed me hard in the side and told me to, “Wake the fuck up, Ash. We’ve got to work as a team. She can’t see a chink in the armor.”
Was I the flaw in our pack? The one who was already wavering, like a fire too weak to withstand one gust of wind?
When the memory faded,I found myself stopped just outside her bedroom door. One hand still held the lighter, but I pressed the other against the dark wood. It felt normal, neither hot nor cold. When a house is burning, everything warms incredibly fast. The knobs can sear your palm once a fire blazes. This wood would feel different if Lucy was burning on the other side.
I don’t want her to burn.
Another thought I didn’t want slipped through my mind, oiled by some feeling I couldn’t pinpoint. It made no damn sense to feel anything for her. She wasn’t forever. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be temporary. A woman like her could never survive us. Not for a week, let alone a lifetime.
My hand drifted to the knob, fingers curling around it. It was turning before I consciously decided to open the door. When there was enough of a gap, I crept inside.
She was sitting up on the mattress, back against the wall. Her arms were crossed, head lolled forward. Sleeping peacefully despite how we’d treated her so far. The smell of piss hit me as I grew closer, and I glanced at the buckets. Whatever the guys said tomorrow, those needed to go. I couldn’t live in a house that reeked of urine. Gasoline, yes. Human waste, no.
At the edge of the mattress, I squatted down. My gazes roved the length of her body, hating how the suit hid what I knew was milky pale skin. The orange light on her wrist still shone orange.I wondered if it would shift to green soon. Then the suit would be off for good.
My earlier curiosity circled back—was the suit flame resistant?
The lighter was still in my hand.
Muscle memory took over, following the singular intrusive thought taking my entire body over.
Burn. See if it burns.
The lighter glowed to life.
I lowered it.
And held it to the mattress until it caught fire.
I was a match. Lucy was a tinderbox. I wouldn’t mind if we both went up in flame.
38
