by Snow, Nicole
It almost hurts to see.
I don’t remember her being so tense. There’s something different about her than just being ambushed by a stranger.
She’s not scared of me, no.
Her eyes shine bright and fearless.
Then comes the sting that might as well be a slap to my face, “Who...who’re you?”
She doesn’t recognize me.
Well, fuck. I’m hardly surprised, but it still stabs me.
She’s grown into a woman, yeah, but there’s a hint of the same airy fresh-faced thing I remember. But me?
I’ve gone from a skinny boy who’s all elbows and angles into the fucking Hulk.
Maybe it’s for the best.
If she recognized me as Tiger, she might ask where I disappeared to all those years ago.
Those kinds of questions are dangerous.
The answers, even more so.
I can’t risk letting anything slip that could make Galentron turn its eyes on her. People have disappeared for less.
Taking a rough breath, I offer her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m Leo.”
“Right. And who’s Leo again?” she asks. I remember her voice as a soft, shy thing, but now it’s just liquid silk and melted chocolate. “I mean, nice name, but it doesn’t really tell me why you’re in my house.”
“I didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I toss my head toward the door. “I work for those assholes meeting with the mayor.”
She snorts. Something glimmers in her eyes, a touch of amusement. “Wouldn’t that make you one of those assholes, too?”
“Probably, but I try to limit my douchebag quotient to the mandatory minimum when I’m on duty.”
That actually gets a laugh from her, the tight set of her shoulders relaxing. “Okay, Leo. I’m Clarissa. So why are you skulking around my kitchen?”
“They let the guard detail off the hook while they talk, and I didn’t want to go drinking with everybody else.” I shrug sheepishly. “I was just exploring. And making a mess, apparently.” I hold out my hand for the paper towels. “We should probably get this cleaned up before it starts to dry. I hear chocolate’s hell to clean out of grout.”
“Yep. Words of wisdom.”
But she smiles even while rolling her eyes at me. I’m grinning like a damn fool as she rips off a sheaf of paper towels and passes it over.
It takes us nearly half an hour to get the mess wiped up.
Fun fact: fondue just smears more when you use dry paper towels.
By the time we’ve managed to get it spotless with wet kitchen towels and wet paper towels, there’s more chocolate on us than on the towels. She’s downright adorable with several smudges on her cheeks and one down the bridge of her nose.
I can’t help myself.
Reaching out, I trace my fingertip over that little chocolate streak, skimming between her eyes to the tip of her nose. “Here’s your next big idea: Clarissa truffles.”
Her shiny green eyes briefly cross before she laughs shyly—and blushes. Her cheeks fire rosy pink against skin as soft and smooth and pale as lilies.
Goddamn, this woman.
“Yeah,” she whispers, a throaty edge to her voice. “But who’d want to eat me?”
I almost bite my tongue in half. It’s too tempting. Especially when she realizes what she said and ducks her head, tucking her hair behind one ear, sucking at her lip.
I could say something truly terrible right now.
Something hungry and hot.
Something as crude as my hard-on digging at my belt.
But I don’t want to scare her away. Not after the way she’d looked at me for that first split second.
She’ll feel safe with me because she is, and I’ll make damn sure of it.
So I just smile, pull my hand back, and lick the bit of chocolate off my thumb. “I can see it.”
“Huh?” She looks at me, tilting her head.
“Half the town of Heart’s Edge lined up around the block, if everything you make is even half as good as this.”
“Really?” She lights up a bit breathlessly. “I usually don’t let other people try my experiments, but...”
“But?”
“Well, I...I’m trying to develop a signature taste profile.” She stands up, unfolding gracefully and brushing her hands off on her apron. I stand, too, watching as she continues shyly. “I want everything to be delicious, but I also want people knowing the second they taste something that I’m the one who made it.”
There’s something dazzling, something hopeful in her voice. It makes her even more breathtaking, and I can’t peel my eyes off her.
“You thinking about going pro, Clarissa?”
“I want more than that.” She turns those glittering eyes and that entrancing smile on me. “I want my own shop someday. The best candy company in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Ambitious. You’re off to a good start.” I lean over and eye a truffle that has a white chocolate shell on the outside and a little bit of candied orange peel on the top. “May I?”
She bites her lip. “I’m not sure about that one. I used this orange liqueur in it, and with the rind it might be too rich.”
“Let me taste test.”
“If...if you really want to...”
“Woman, after being covered in melted chocolate, I’m so hungry I can’t help myself.”
I grin at her, popping the truffle in my mouth with all the grace of an elephant, and bite down.
Holy fuck.
It kicks my tongue. A fierce citrus tartness and glazed sweetness, then the delicate white chocolate, and a liquid burst of potent orange booze.
Taste profile? Bullshit.
It’s like a metal concert in my mouth.
I stop just short of grunting like a boar.
“Goddamn,” I growl, swallowing it down. “Now we’ve got a problem.”
Clarissa fusses with her apron, a worried knot appearing between her brows. “What’s wrong?”
“I was thinking about asking a pretty girl out, but I think I just tasted something divine...and now I don’t know which one I want more.” I love how her breath catches, that hot blush coming back in full force. “Might need to try both to see which one’s really better.”
“Leo!” she gasps softly, but there’s this breath of laughter behind it. She covers her mouth with her fingers, turning her face away, then peeking back, watching me through her curly lashes. “You’re totally not...are you? Are you trying to ask me out?”
“Maybe,” I tease. “Unless you’d rather just leave me with the whole tray of truffles. You might want to leave, though. This could get pretty pornographic.”
Her laughter comes out startled but warm, and she steals another look at me, her lips parting to answer.
Only for her face to go pale as a deep, harsh voice belts out behind us.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?”
I snap to attention immediately—thinking it must be directed at me.
Rest in Peace. I’m caught, just a lowly soldier, a security guard, in here flirting very inappropriately with the mayor’s daughter.
I’ll probably pay for this later.
Possibly in blood.
But when I turn, it’s not Dr. Ross or anyone I expect standing there. It’s worse.
Mayor Edgar Bell.
Fuck!
Weirdly, he’s not staring at me, but Clarissa, his darker green eyes hard with contempt and disdain and disbelief.
He’s an imposing figure in his three-piece suit and his iron-grey hair swept back, his thick beard cropped close. He’s broad-shouldered, even if he’s not nearly as tall or as muscular as me.
He looks like a man who’s used to owning things. Owning people, maybe, and ordering them around.
At my side, Clarissa goes stock-still, save for the slow fumble of her lips and throat as she swallows.
It’s not a hard picture to understand.
It’s not hard t
o figure out her old man’s the real reason why she tensed up when she saw me.
For a second, I just eye him and wonder.
While I was tormented in the rooms hidden under this place, was she in her own hell? Suffering alone several floors above?
Especially when he bites off coldly, “Did I give you permission to bother our guests, Clarissa Bell?”
Permission? Is he joking?
She’s a young woman. An adult. Maybe not old enough to drink, but legal to vote, legal to drive, and even if she lives under his roof, she shouldn’t have to ask his permission just to talk to someone, and—
“No, Papa.” She bows her head, speaking softly, submissively—but behind the kitchen island, where only I can see, her fists clench slowly, the tendons in her wrists and arms straining.
Her jaw is tight, half-hidden past her mane of hair. “I’m sorry.”
He sweeps her with a cutting up-and-down look, ignoring me like I’m not even there. “Clean this crap up and go to your room. On second thought, no—” A hard look slides toward me, finally acknowledging me. “You’ll just make a bigger mess. Just go. I’ll have the maids take care of it.”
She flinches at the criticism.
Like Mayor Fuck thinks she can’t even do something so simple on her own...
Who talks to his own daughter this way?
Clarissa flicks me a quick, almost apologetic glance from under her lashes. Then she turns and nearly flees the room, shoving past her father to leave the double doors swinging while he just makes a soft, annoyed hissy sound under his breath, brushing off his suit like she just dirtied it.
Then he, too, turns and walks out, sparing not even another glance for me.
I might as well be damn near invisible. Rather than standing here frozen and seething, wishing I hadn’t been too startled to say anything.
I’d probably have made things worse, though.
Still, it fucking hurt, watching her stand there like she’s seen the Medusa and turned to stone. Like she’s been conditioned to just accept it.
I know that feeling, too.
I hate it.
Maybe that’s why I feel this protective rage boiling my blood. This blinding need to get her away from this.
Damn. I just want her to be happy. And I meant it earlier when I thought about keeping her safe.
That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To protect Galentron assets and partners, including the Bell family. From anyone and everyone.
I wait in the kitchen for a small eternity, trying to get my temper under control, but excuse myself when a sleepy-looking older woman comes shuffling in, yawning, still in her pajamas with a pair of yellow rubber gloves and an apron.
I mutter an apology to her, then slip out.
There’s no sign of Dr. Ross, and the mayor’s long gone. I’ve got a few moments.
So I head upstairs to the bedrooms I’d passed before in my wanderings. One’s still open, a younger girl sleeping inside, tucked up inside a ruffled yellow bedspread, peaceful and quiet.
But the other door, the one that was open before, looks closed now.
I fish the carved flower out of my pocket and lay it down in front of the door where she’ll see it when she opens up before she has a chance to step on it.
I’d wanted to give it to her directly, but not like this.
Right now, she needs space.
So I’ll leave her a promise, and I’ll also leave behind every last fuck I have to give.
Don’t care that it’s insane. Don’t care that it’s wrong. Don’t care that I’m making plans for a girl who might as well be a princess to my pauper, and who I only really met after an eternity apart less than an hour ago.
Don’t call me crazy.
Because I’ll come back for Clarissa Bell. It’s what I’m meant for.
And if she wants me to, I’ll fight like hell for her.
Somehow, some way, I’ll take us both away from the fucked up life Galentron and Mayor Bell have planned for us.
* * *
Present
“My, you’re really going soft these days, aren’t you?”
A raw, sarcastic voice jolts me out of my memories, dragging me back to the present with the sharpness of a gunshot.
That’s where my brain goes the moment I realize I’m not alone. Someone’s crept up on me while I was lost in my thoughts.
Not anymore. My brain snaps to guns and violence, defending myself the way I was trained to.
I’m diving for my sidearm between the layers of pallets on my bed before I even register who’s here.
I swipe the Glock out, rolling to one knee, snapping the clip into place and taking aim at the thin figure silhouetted against the fading twilight at the mouth of the cave, next to the ladder.
A second later, my vision clears, and I want to smack my head. Or hers.
Fuchsia goddamn Delaney.
Hardly reason to lower my weapon.
I keep my finger on the trigger, narrowing my eyes at her. “What do you want now?”
I still haven’t forgotten what she did the last time she was in town. Nor have I forgiven her.
That little ruse about needing my blood—blood immune to the virus Galentron once intended to unleash on Heart’s Edge in a test—led to a mess that nearly got people killed.
And with too many loose ends hanging, I don’t doubt that Galentron wants to do cleanup.
Maybe even sweep little old Heart’s Edge right off the map.
Scrub any and all evidence they were ever here, and silence anyone who might know what they’ve been doing.
Like the daughters of the man who sold the town out for profit.
Like yours truly, the escaped freak in their fucked-up supersoldier program.
Last time, Fuchsia swore she wasn’t with Galentron anymore, right before everything went to hell in a handbasket.
I didn’t believe her then. Probably won’t believe anything she has to say now, either.
Especially when she just sighs, fully relaxed like she doesn’t have a gun pointed at her.
She tilts her head to the side, her razor-sharp salt-and-pepper bob kissing her equally razor-sharp jaw. “Why don’t you come up here so we can talk?” She taps the toe of one of her red-soled black spike heels on the metal walkway. “You aren’t going to make a lady use a ladder in heels, are you?”
“I’m not coming, and you’re no lady. You can talk to me from there, or come on down.”
Rolling her eyes, she folds her arms over her chest. “Really? I’m the only friend you have left, Leo. You might want to be a teensy bit nicer to me.”
“You’re no friend of mine. I know who my real friends are.” I stare her down over the barrel of the Glock. “I’m gonna ask you again what the fuck you want. Last courtesy.”
“That’s a statement, not a question.”
“Okay. You can be pedantic, or I can put a bullet in you for every time you refuse to answer me.”
“That’s hardly a way to treat a girl,” she mock-pouts.
I snort. “Bull. You’ve probably got six guns inside your dress, and if I blink for too long, you’ll murder me in cold blood.”
“Aw, come on. That’s the old Fuchsia. I’ve turned over a new leaf!” She raises both black-gloved hands, fluttering her lashes. “I only have two guns, Leo. I’m here to finish the job, not finish you.”
I frown. “What damn job?”
“Exposing Galentron.” She smirks slowly. “Lots of rumblings that they’re trying to wipe the slate clean again. We already wasted our first window of opportunity. The other ones are closing far too fast. If we’re going to do this, we need to do it now.”
“Stop saying ‘we’ like I’m a part of this shit.” I shake my head. “I’m not interested in exposing Galentron. Any attempt will just make those pukes come down harder on innocents.”
“You’re an innocent. As much as you can be, I mean. And yet you keep denying any efforts to exonerate you.” She watches me shre
wdly, her lips pursed. “Why?”
“Because I’m not that innocent. There’s still blood on my hands, even if it’s not as much as yours. I’ll take my penance.” My jaw clenches. “So, kindly fuck off out of town, and take your cronies with you.”
“Wow. You really do think I’m still working with them?” Fuchsia shakes her head and slips her hand inside her tight cropped black coat. When I tense, shifting my aim, she sighs. “Oh, stop. I’m just getting these.”
She draws out an envelope, thick and manila, then bends and lets it drop.
It falls down, landing on the floor of my little lair. I eye her, then edge closer, keeping the gun on her with one hand while I bend to pick it up with the other.
Sinking down on the crate I use for a chair next to my fire pit, I stretch my gun arm out toward Fuchsia, keeping one eye on her while I shake the contents of the envelope out across my thighs.
Photos.
Large, high-quality eight-by-ten glossies.
All of them are Clarissa, picking her way through the wreckage of the candy shop.
My heart nearly stops. It’s that same painful jolt of recognition as the first time I saw her so many years ago, but there’s nothing sweet about it this time.
Just a hard, hurting rush of longing, of loss, of worry. What the fuck is this? A threat?
My throat aches, but I grind out the words. “I already saw her. Know she’s back in town. This isn’t news. Leave her the hell alone.”
“Keeeeep looking.” Fuchsia sounds horridly triumphant.
I dart a hard look up at her, then flip through the photos more slowly.
Clarissa at Charming Inn. Clarissa at The Nest. Clarissa buying groceries, her eyes pensive, that scar on her cheek another bad memory of the last time I saw her, only it makes her look both fiercer and more vulnerable than ever.
Clarissa with a little boy.
A kid with her dark-chestnut hair and straight, slim nose, his expression shy behind a pair of thick glasses.
Her son, I realize.
Her son.
Fuck. My stomach bottoms out.
He looks like he can’t be more than six or seven years old; hard to tell when he seems small for his age, but hell.