Kane still has some unshakeable allies in all of this mess, and all we need to do is give me time to find the fucking leak and track down that little Ricci shit, and things will be fine.
My thought is punctuated with me catching the edge of the coffee table with my calf and falling directly on my face. The humiliation is difficult to bear, as is the hand that takes mine and eases me to my feet. My fingers run over James’ knuckles, recognizing him by the rings he wears, and I try to pull away, but he keeps me close.
“Go out back and have a smoke with me?” he asks. His accent sounds a little stronger, and that’s one of the ways I know he’s feeling the pressure of what’s to come.
I say nothing, just take the back of his arm, and he leads me to the back door, which opens to fresh air. “What’s it look like?” I ask.
“Big field with absolutely nothing for at least fifty miles,” he says. That much I knew from the map. “Feels isolated. Small.”
I hum as he leads me to a small settee, and I keep my knee pressed to his. I know he’s not going to make me talk about my problems because he knows better than that, so I wait because his silence means he has something to say but doesn’t quite know how to start.
I hear the crack of a lighter once, then twice. I hold my fingers out, and he brushes the filter of his Turkish cigaretteagainst my thumb. It’s a little smoother than the American shit, but it’s stronger too, and sweeter.
“I’ve had the same nightmare every night since I was shot,” he says after a long beat.
I suck in a lungful of smoke, then let it drift past my lips as I settle back further against his shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Usually, it starts like it did that afternoon. The bullets are flying, but…it’s more than one gunman. My arm’s torn off.”
It’s not unexpected. I understand where he’s coming from because facing a permanent loss makes a person protective of what they’ve got left. Nothing scares me more than the idea of losing my hands or my hearing.
I’d never say that aloud. It feels cruel to the people who live that reality. But in my life, my job, it would be a death sentence.
“Sometimes, in the dream,” he goes on, his voice rough, “I’m strapped to a hospital bed, trying to fight the doctor while he’s getting ready to…to take it.”
I turn slightly and drag my fingers over his thigh. His jeans are soft from how well-worn they are, and I trace the seam on the side, which is starting to fray. “I understand.”
“I figured you would,” he says, his voice choked with the last of his smoke. His body twitches, and I realize he’s flicked the butt. I almost warn him not to cause a damn forest fire, but then I remember I don’t know what this forest looks like. There could be a lake right out the front door, for all I know.
I crush mine under the heel of my shoe just in case.
“You think Kane worries about that shit?” he asks.
I laugh. I know for a fact he does. He dreams about losing his other leg, his arms, his sight, his tongue. He dreams about losing his life and leaving us behind—trapped as a spirit and unable to ever touch us again.
Most of his dreams are about death in some way—losing himself, losing one of us.
Losing all of us.
It’s gotten worse since Alice arrived, but he won’t ever talk about it. Not unless he’s drunk, and he hasn’t had one of those nights in a long, long time.
“You’re not alone,” I tell him after a long beat. I twist in my seat again and reach for his face, and he meets me halfway, his cheek against my palm. His beard is coarse and curly, a little longer than he normally wears it. I drag my fingers along his jawline and marvel at how fucking beautiful he is. So young and still innocent despite this life. “You will never be alone.”
“Do you think I’d survive it? Losing my other arm?”
I laugh, then lean in and direct him into a kiss because the question is so…oddly sweet. “Yes,” I say against his lips before pulling all the way back. “I think you’d learn to sharpshoot with your fucking feet, my love.”
His skin heats under my touch. His praise kink can be seen from space, so peppering him with sweet little pet names is the quickest and easiest way to undo him.
I stroke his face again, shifting closer. I can smell him deep in my lungs. “Hell, if you want to practice now so you don’t ever go into anything unprepared, I’m pretty sure Ari will let you practice jerking him off with your toes.”
There’s a pause, and then he laughs. The sound rumbles through him, light and gorgeous, and through his chuckles, he kisses me over and over and over. Fuck. It brings me back to the moment that Kane dragged him into our home, near death and still bleeding, and somehow able to make us all smile.
“I will never, ever let you drown,” I tell him, wrapping my fingers around the back of his neck. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he says, and then he kisses me again until we’re both struggling to breathe.
There’sa strange tension in this small safe house that’s hard to stand. It’s suffocating. Most of the time, the absence of sight leaves me feeling like I’m in some endless void with no walls that just goes on forever. Now, it feels a bit like a coffin.