“What do you call the other side of half the truth?”
He laughs incredulously. “Another damn question.”
I’d apologize if I ever learned how. “The answer is that it’s a lie.”
He nods. “Even if it’s half the truth?”
“Then it’s still half a lie.”
“Then I guess everyone’s lying about something.” He turns and waves his hand over his shoulder. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
I’m not much of an ass man but there’s something to be said about the way his boxers clihg to his ass, perfectly displaying the thin spacebetween his cheeks. As he storms through the iron gate and disappears behind a row of bushes, I try to imagine what’s made him so confrontational to the concept of human interaction.
He reminds me so much of Silas. Fool me once, shame on the other person. Fool me again, also shame on the other person. Fool me for the third time, shame on someone else because I’m not taking responsibility for shit.
Silas was a man on the run. The demons that chased him weren’t the ghosts of others. Instead, it was himself who he was running from. He’d burn the world down to escape the desires that threatened to consume him. Would always come, and then he’d be gone. He burned me a hundred times, and I always came crawling back.
As for Noah, he seems to just want to watch the world burn.
And men who play with fire are always on the run from something or someone.
There’s just one question, what the hell is he running from?
CHAPTER 9
NOAH
I groaninto my pillow as my head thumps.
Mama always said the best cure for a headache was sex. Heard her say it to a friend at such a young age that I once told a teacher she should have sex to get rid of her headache. That was before I knew what the birds and bees were. Suffice to say. Mama wasn’t too happy that day. Rolled into the school with a cigarette tucked behind her ear that was barely covered by the curls of a fresh perm. She dragged me out of that place, pulled down my pants, and beat my ass in the backseat of the car. And that’s what I’d consider a happy childhood memory. After that, things got so much worse.
I roll over in bed into a puddle of my own sweat. Everything is drenched—my body, the sheets, and the pillow. I throw the covers off me, but it doesn’t do jackshit to alleviate the heat. As for Seven, he’snowhere to be seen. Could be lounging by the pool again. Could be sucking some guy off in a car in the parking lot. Could be a hundred miles away by now.
I squint to get a better look at the air conditioner. The lights are all lit up and the temperature is set to a cool 68 degrees, but not a hint of coolness is coming from the vents. In fact, with temperatures this high, I’d almost bet everything I own that the fucking outdated piece of shit is blowing out heat. It’s long past its prime, like that air conditioner inThe Brave Little Toaster.
The alarm clock claims it’s a little past one, but that can’t be right. That’d be the earliest I’ve woken up in months, but my body probably woke itself up to avoid a heat stroke while I slept. My subconscious is in survival mode while my consciousness is in a never-ending crash out.
I sit up in bed and make a quick call to the front desk using the rotary phone on the nightstand. The front desk attendant is absolutely no help. First, he says the only thing he can do is move us into another room, but no chance in hell I’m sticking around for another night. After some berating, he relents and says someone will be over to fix the unit shortly, but I’ll most likely be gone by then. I’ve already spent two nights in the same place and I’m itching to drive. It’s one of only two things that quell my mind.
I stand up and make my way to the window to pull back the curtains. There are a few families gathered in the pool, but Seven is nowhere to be seen. I glance overat the nightstand again, and my heart skips a beat and then begins to pound relentlessly. Seven isn’t the only thing missing.
So are my keys.
And my wallet.
I make a beeline for the safe, input the code, and exhale in relief to see my duffel bag is still there.
The doorknob turns.
My knees crack as I rise to stand.
Seven walks through the door with ease and I realize that not only did he steal my car, but he also didn’t lock the front door when he left. Meaning anyone could’ve come in here and robbed me while I slept.
His white tee clings to his sweaty chest, and his hair is slicked back.
I point squarely at his greaser-looking ass. “You’re fucking dead.”
He carries a brown paper bag in one hand and tosses my keys with the other. My reflexes are just quick enough that I’m able to catch them by hunching forward. I toss them onto the dresser beside me.
