I want to smack the back of my brother’s head. I want to smack Kari, too, because she’s dating my brother anddoesn’t she understand how gross that is?But instead, I turn on my heel and bolt down the hall before I’m scarred for life.
I’ve walked in on them too many times. So many, in fact, I’ve taken to working late at the office most nights instead of coming home.
I’ll be working no matter where I am, but at least at the office, I don’t run the risk of going blind.
Thatwasthe safer choice until this week. Now, I run the risk of running into Kane Bishop.
I’m not sure which option I prefer.
Stepping into my bright bedroom, I take in the pinks and purples, the tiaras from my teenage years and pompoms from my failed high school cheerleading career; the photos of my sister and I, of our whole four-girl group before Luc got it in his head to hit on one of them – everything in my room that represents a privileged childhood stands in direct contrast to Kane’s apartment; it all seems so bright and cheerful and… kinda fake.
Locking my door twice, just to make certain, I move to my bed and sit in the middle. I ignore the antibiotic ointment under my pillow and take out the shirt that’s four times too big for me, but soft as feathers and smells just like him.
I hate that it smells like him.
He’s a criminal!
He’s dangerous.
And he had his fingers inside my body before breakfast today.
I hate that it felt good. I hate that I hated myself for stopping him. I hate the treacherous thoughts I had of letting him finish me off before I went with the indignation act.
It wouldn’t count as long as I didn’t get him off. It wouldn’t count as long as I continued to whisper no.
What the hell is the matter with me? Of course it counts!
I’ve been working and studying for most of a decade to be where I am now. I’ll be sitting the bar this year. Ever since I was fourteen and we sat around the kitchen table as a family, when we discussed what we wanted to be when we grew up, when my brother decided he wanted to save lives and my sister said she wanted to teach children, the pull inside my chest declared I would do something important, too.
Something big.
I’ve been doing it. I’ve been laser focused on my career.
But the day Jules handed a file over and the dark eyes met mine, my path altered without my permission.
Did I go out the other night to get into the club to find their secrets? Or did I go in search of the man who owned the haunted eyes?
Am I opening the filesright nowto keep working the case, to add another brick to the wall that will lock Abel Hayes and Kane Bishop up for life? Or am I hugging his shirt and staring into his eyes for a different reason?
Why, when I know it’s wrong, when I know he’s bad, am I trying to think up excuses for the life he’s led?
And why the hell didn’t I punch him in the face when he ran his tongue along my neck?
Because I’m a mess.
An overworked, overtired, overstressed, under-laid, mess.
My head says to close the file for now. To step away. To go to the hospital for a tetanus shot.
Do they have vaccinations for AIDS?
But my heart refuses to let me step away. Instead, I read the dossier in my lap and study everything I already know about him.
His birthday; two years older than me, but two days after mine each year. His birthplace; not here. Not even close to here. His parents; both deceased. Siblings; one. Education; high school dropout. Starting quarterback on the varsity team before leaving six months before graduation. High school wrestling team. State champion. National champion.
Frowning, I look closer at the news clippings from his earlier years. Somehow, he looks nothing like he used to, but the eyes… the eyes are the same.
Was he a murderer even back then?