At least for now.
The fire was never quiet for long, and Johnny would begin to whisper in the wind soon enough, but for right now, I basked in the warmth of sunset eyes and the foreign feeling of being safe.
I could cry years worth of tears at that feeling alone.
James drug his hands from behind my ears and moved them in languid lines down my neck. The calluses worked into his hands stung as he traced his skin against mine, and the sensation was so fucking delicious. Like the start of a tattoo before the needle bleeds deep and poisons you with the real pain you went there for.
The tattoo hidden on my chest burned at the remembered sensation.
My heart pitter-pattered a strange rhythm as James’ thumbs came to rest against my jawline, and one went rogue and reached out to pet my skin in a placating graze. Such a brutish, angry man with such a tender streak in him.
My mind was a shoe-string waiting to snap, but it still registered the odd beat in my chest. My heart always skipped a beat.
One for me. One for Johnny.
Except just then.
Just then, it was one steady full beat.
Everywhere James touched on my body felt like when you find the perfect spot in front of a campfire. Not too close to where you’re singed and sweaty, but close enough that the icy air doesn’t shake your spine in shivers. You’re just glowing and comfortable and warm.
“Keep your head low, and don’t draw any attention.” A content sigh filled deep in my lungs as he thumbed my jaw again, like he couldn’t stop himself from doing it just once more. His husky voice came again, humorless warning sitting heavy.
“And don’t run from me.”
Couldn’t even if I wanted to.
James towed me alongside him through the store, my hand in his until he needed to grab something. Then he’d place my hand on the handle of the cart we were pushing along, pick up whatever he needed, and then swallow my hand up in his palm again.
All in all, we got bleach, scrubbing brushes, fifteen feet of plastic tarp, a shovel, matches, and a bag of Doritos.
Like the bag of Doritos helped dial back the purchase that screamed ‘Hey, we murdered someone.’
To top it off, James paid in cash.
The cashier didn’t bat an eye, though. He was too consumed in the podcast or music playing in his ear as he checked us out one item at a time.
The drive back to the motel was silent.
I helped carry in the bleach, and James got everything else except the shovel and matches that he left in the car.
Oh, and the Doritos. Couldn’t forget the fucking Doritos.
Inside the room, the air was deader than usual. Dead as the man in the bathroom.
“Take off your shoes,” James gruffed as he did the same.
Without waiting, I followed the order and kicked my flip-flops over to where he’d set his shoes. My bare toes dug into the carpet as I waited for further instructions.
Scarlett Avery taking orders.
If only my father could see me now.
James peeled off his socks next and then his shirt; the same shirt he put over my arms just this morning when things were easy. Not slathered in spilt blood. It left him in a black undershirt and his jeans, which he popped the button open on next. He slipped out of them, not thinking for one second if he should or shouldn’t.
Standing only a few feet away in just an undershirt stretched over his torso and gray briefs clinging to his thighs, it was hard to miss the sheer power in his body. He was tall, so much taller than me, and his chest was wide and his arms were rippled with muscles.
James was a sizable man, and somehow looked even bigger with his clothes off.