by BL Mute
When he comes back, I jump, noticing his hands are full. But the fear dies down a tiny bit when I see it’s only a first aid kit. “Let me see your feet.”
His voice is emotionless, but I do as he says. As he sits down, I lift my legs, then lay them in his lap. He opens the kit and sets it on the arm of the couch carefully before pulling out a pair of tweezers, some alcohol wipes, and Band-Aids.
He wipes down the tweezers with the alcohol, then grips my left foot in his hand. “Don’t kick me, Carmen,” he says, looking directly in my eyes.
When I don’t reply, he gets to work on my feet. He pulls thorn after thorn out as I flinch and do my best not to scream at the pain. When each foot is finally clear of thorns, he wipes them down, which stings like a bitch, then places Band-Aids on the worst wounds.
He closes his kit back up, then stands, forcing my feet to the floor, and pulls me up. He turns me around and unlocks the furry handcuffs around my wrists. The same ones I put on him only a few hours ago. “You can run again if you want, but I promise you won’t get far.”
I pull my arms in front of me and rub my wrists. “I won’t.” It’s a lie, but I need to gain his trust. Even if it’s only a mere ounce. The first chance I get, I’m bolting, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He laughs, then pulls me into the kitchen. Each step hurts, but it isn’t as bad as before. He flips on another light, then motions to the barstool at the counter. “Sit.”
I keep my eyes on him as I do what he says and slide onto the stool. He moves around the kitchen, pulling dishes from the cabinets and food from the fridge. “How’d you do it?”
He pauses with a plate in his hand before turning around and setting it on the counter. “Do what?”
“Get me here. I know I wasn’t that tired.”
“Ketamine.”
“You date raped me?” I yell.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, then goes back to pulling out everything he needs to make a meal. “I needed to make sure you wouldn’t wake up. You’re the one who didn’t check my bag and left it out in the open.”
I ignore him. I don’t want to admit he’s right. “What happened to not leaving until Carter asked?”
He shrugs again as he places a skillet on the stove and turns it on. “This is bigger than my relationship with Carter.”
“What? Killing me?” I can hear my voice crack.
“I never said I was going to kill you, Carmen.” He throws some bacon onto a skillet, then starts slicing a tomato.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why you brought me here, Cyrus. So, are you just lying to me or yourself?”
He pauses again, then leans over the counter so our noses are almost touching. “In case you forgot, I’ve held your life in my hands numerous times now. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.”
I can feel my heartbeat pick up speed as my mind starts to fill with all the memories of me and him together. His hand around my throat. My tongue in his mouth. His lips on my skin.
Is this what Stockholm syndrome is? Is this how it happens, because maybe I understand now.
No. Fuck, I have to pull myself together. Cyrus isn’t here to fuck me senseless. He’s here to kill me. I have to remember that. I clear my throat. “I won’t say anything. Just take me home and I’ll forget we ever even met.”
Another slow shake of his head. “It isn’t that simple.”
“It can be though.” I sound more desperate than ever.
“Sorry, Carmen.”
I want to turn into myself and cry, but I don’t want him to know he’s getting to me. Instead, I let out a breath and tell myself I’m going to get out of this. I’m too damn determined not to.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CYRUS
After making Carmen a BLT and tending to her feet one last time, I got her set up in my room, where she passed out. At least, I’m sure that’s what she wants me to think. I’m smarter than that though. I know she’s just pretending, waiting for an opportunity to run again.
I made sure to put all the knives or anything that can be used as a weapon into my safe, and I have Tiny outside if by some off chance she does happen to “wake up” and make a run for it.
Once I’m done with the dishes, I peek into my room one last time to make sure she’s still feigning sleep. Her long dark hair is sprawled across my white pillowcase, her eyes are closed shut, and her body looks relaxed. It’s a welcoming sight, in a way. I’ve never brought a woman here. Ever. This is my haven, my own piece of paradise away from the life that molded me.
I made sure no one can track me here. I paid in all cash, used an alias on the deed, and put up signal blockers for any trackers that shoot in a one-mile radius. Because of all the caution I’ve taken keeping this place a secret, I never wanted to bring anyone here. Not unless I had to, and right now, I had to.
Carmen doesn’t understand yet, but I’m hoping soon she will. My intentions aren’t to kill her. At first, they were, but knowing she’s close to my brother… I just can’t do that. She was one of the people there for him when I wasn’t. I can’t take that away from him. So, I simply need to keep her hidden and quiet until I can get a handle on my fuckup.
I close the door, making sure to leave it cracked just enough to keep an eye on her, then grab my burner phone from the end table by my couch. I dial Hatcher’s number and bring it to my ear.
After a few rings, he finally picks up. “Cyrus? What the fuck. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”
I look behind me, through the cracked door, just to make sure Carmen isn’t listening, then turn back around and step out the patio door off the living room. “It’s complicated. I have an issue.”
“No shit. You killed a client. What even possessed you to follow through with that?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”
Hatcher has been my friend since boarding school. We connected almost instantly over shitty dads, and our friendship continued when Ghost approached us both with a job, but right now, I can’t give him details. I never told him about Carter because I felt bad. I was the shitty brother leaving him with an even shitter dad. But now I can’t tell him because although we’re friends, business will always come first. I’m just hoping I made it to him before Ghost.
“Well, give me something. Ghost already made contact. You’re in deep shit.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “What does he want?”
“You know what he wants. You’re blacklisted and have a price on your head.”
“How much?”
“Like you could afford it,” he laughs. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”
“How much, Hatcher? If Ghost put out a price, I want to know it.” I raise my voice, ignoring his comment.
“Two mil.”
“Great. Who knows?” I have a feeling I already know the answer, but I need to hear it.
“Everyone.”
I hang up before he can say any more, then switch the phone’s power back off. I forgot how fast word can travel through our network, and I realize this is worse than I thought. I scrub my hand down my face, trying to keep my anxiety in check, but it’s pointless. I fucked up, and now I may not be able to fix it.
Letting out a deep breath, I squat down, sitting on the porch. I look out into the night, trying to think of anything I can do to fix this shit, but nothing comes to mind. I’m done, and now I’ll be hunted by my fellow colleagues—the best of the best. Even better than me.
I hear Tiny’s footfalls as he rounds the house, pulling me from my thoughts. As he stops in front of me and lowers his head, I give him a few pats. “Hey, boy.”
He looks at me like he knows something is wrong but can’t communicate to ask what. Instead, he folds his long legs under him and lies in front of me.
Tiny is my best friend. The only companion I’ve had for years. He was only a puppy when I got him, but I raised him and trained him to be the best dog and an even better hunter. For a
while, he traveled with me, but trying to conceal a dog’s presence from a crime scene is harder than hiding my own. He’s one of the main reasons I even got this place. It has space so he can run and live his best life. I have automatic feeders set up too, so he never goes hungry. It’s hard to leave him when I’m traveling, but I check in every chance I can, and it’s close enough to Bexley Falls to where I’m even able to keep tabs on Carter too. Not that I’ve done a very good job at that anyway.
“Let her get adjusted, then you can come inside, okay?” I say, raising his head to look me in the eye.
Carmen is already on edge, and I’m sure introducing her to the devil dog, as she called him, wouldn’t go over too great right now.
I know he understands, and he’s done a good job calming me down, so I stand then step back inside. I tuck my phone back in its place in my end table.
“Cyrus?” I hear her squeak.
I lift my eyes from the end table and look at her. “What is it, Carmen?”
“Who’s Ghost?” She worries her bottom lip as she wraps her arms around her center.
I let out a breath, then round the couch and step into the kitchen. “Someone worse than me.” I retrieve a glass from the cabinet and grab the bottle of bourbon from the corner of the counter. “What did you hear?”
“Can I have some of that?” she questions, ignoring my comment about Ghost and pointing to my glass as I pour the amber liquid.
I nod, then snag another glass and pour her some as she moves into the kitchen and perches herself onto the barstool. I’m expecting more questions, but they don’t come.
For a few beats, we both sip silently. I watch her eyes bounce around the room, no doubt looking for a way out. “You can’t leave without me knowing.”
She shoots her stare back to me. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”
I set my glass down and lean onto the counter. “Carmen, my job is to watch people and their patterns—to predict their moves. You can’t lie to me.”
She looks at the counter and swirls the drink in her glass. “Why can’t you just let me go? I swear I won’t say anything.”
I shake my head. “I already told you it isn’t that simple.”
“Why not?” Her calm, low voice is gone and replaced with the feisty one she uses so well.
“Spitfire is so damn fitting. I see why you chose it.”
She slams her glass onto the counter. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I tip my head.
“Ignore my questions and make me feel all warm and fuzzy instead. You’re going to kill me, Cyrus, so stop trying to charm me. It’ll only make shit hurt worse in the end.”
“That liquor’s got you loose, I see,” I remark with a laugh.
She rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “Fuck off. I just want to go home.”
“Why?”
Her face scrunches. “Why what? Why do I want to go home?” I nod, and she shakes her head. “No. You don’t get an answer from me until you give me some.”
“Ghost is my boss,” I throw out, complying with her demand. “Now tell me why you so badly want to go home, because from our time before, it seemed you were trying to escape something.”
She throws her hands in the air. “Why wouldn’t I? You fucking kidnapped me!” She doesn’t even comment on the escaping part, but it’s fine. I’ll figure it out eventually.
“You’re here for both our protection, Carmen. And I’ve already told you I have no intentions of killing you.”
“Yeah? And how do I know that you’re telling the truth? Hell, all you’ve done is lie to me.”
“Lie to you?” I raise a brow at her.
“About who you are, what you do. There is probably more.” She waves her hand.
I round the corner, shaking my finger. “No. I never lied about who I was. I simply never told you, same with my job. And I made it clear that night at the hotel that the less people know, the better when it comes to me.”
She huffs, then picks her glass back up, turning her back to me as she downs the rest of her drink. She knows I’m right, and it pisses her off. “Just—leave me alone. It’s bad enough I’m stuck here against my will. I don’t want to have to stare at your face too.”
“Why? Because you know you can’t resist me?”
She turns around, her face screwed tight. “No. Because you make me fucking sick. You think you can avoid answering me by seducing me. It’s not going to happen.”
I huff. “Seems you do the same. Avoid problems by fucking them away.”
“Maybe I do.” She nods. “But at least I can admit that to myself. You… You aren’t even self-aware. Clearly you have some issues too but ignore them. Maybe that’s why you kill people too because it’s a way to put all of those feelings and emotions to use without having to face them.” She picks up her glass and shoves it into my chest. “We’re the same, Cyrus, so lose the god complex and get me another drink.”
Her bluntness makes me smile. “Fine.”
She tips her head. “Fine? After everything I said, all I get is ‘fine’?”
I shrug and take the glass. “You want to unload shit, fine. But we’ll do it with some drinks.”
I go to move to the other side of the counter, but she grabs my arm. “Now you want to let me in? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head and drops her hold on me. “I wanted it before.”
“And I couldn’t give it to you. Now, you know who I am—what I do. Why not just lay it all out? Maybe it will shut you up for a minute and calm you the fuck down.” God, I hope so.
She scoffs and crosses her arms, so I take that as my cue to fix another drink. As soon as I make it to the other side of the counter and have the bottle of liquor in hand, she bolts.
Her shoulder hits the doorway as she leaves the kitchen, but it doesn’t slow her down. She makes it to the front door and is out of it within seconds, but I don’t move for a moment. If she wants to know me, we can start with a Tiny introduction.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CARMEN
As soon as his eyes leave mine, I run. I know with him watching my every move, I’ll never get a chance, so I make my own. I also know I won’t get far, but I don’t let that slow me down. My feet slap the wooden floors until I finally make it to the door. I jerk it open, not even bothering to close it, then rush down the steps.
Normally, I would hear him behind me by now, but it’s silent. Too silent.
Don’t fucking do it, my inner voice rings out, but I ignore it and slow my pace before looking over my shoulder.
Big fucking mistake.
Charging through the dark, taking the same path I did, is a fucking dog. Not just any dog though. It’s at least two feet tall, making my five-foot-nothing frame seem smaller than normal. Its paws are massive from what I can see, kicking up dirt as he runs toward me.
It only takes me about three seconds to realize I’m fucked and pick the pace back up. I make a hard right and hit the same field as before. Another mistake. I was hoping I could avoid the thorny little balls, but they’re everywhere. The Band-Aids Cyrus put on earlier are little protection, but it makes the pain a little less torturing. It still isn’t enough though. I only make it a few more feet before I collapse and cry out.
Within seconds, the giant beast appears again, making me fall back to get away from its sharp teeth snapping at me. It stands over me, pinning me to the ground, with drool dripping from its snout as it growls, making sure I get a good look at the dagger-like teeth. Its weight crushes my chest, but I make sure to not move. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing.
“Tiny, down,” Cyrus’s voice rings out.
With that one simple command, the dog steps off me, and air rushes back into my lungs. I move back to a sitting position and rub the spot on my chest where his paw sat.
“He won’t hurt you.” Cyrus speaks again, finally coming into view.
“Yeah.
He seems really friendly,” I snap, trying to drag myself back to my feet.
Cyrus rushes to my side and wraps a hand around my waist, helping me up. I want to push him away, but right now, I need the help. So, instead, I stay quiet and hop back to the house as he holds me.
When we make it back to the porch, he lifts me, cradling my legs in one hand and moving the other to my back. He carries me up the steps as the fucking horse follows. “Ready to talk now?”
He lays me back on the couch, more gentle than last time, as Tiny takes the love seat. “You weren’t kidding?”
He grabs the first aid kit he abandoned earlier, then moves back to the couch. Lifting my feet, he sits and lays them in his lap. “I wasn’t.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand you.”
“Well, you never needed to.” He opens the kit and gets to work on my feet for the third time.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He stills, stopping what he’s doing to look at me. “We were supposed to be no strings, remember?”
I let out a breath. The thought of me and him hooking up seems so far away when just a few days ago, it felt like it had just happened. Maybe that’s the trauma of the events finally settling in and taking precedence. Because fucking is minuscule compared to be kidnapped by a fucking contract killer.
“I’d rather not remember it,” I spit, and I mean it. At least I think I do. Because what would it say about me as a person if I still pined over this man? Still lusted over him.
I try not to think too deeply into it, but Lydia and Carter pop up, and it has my mind rolling. Their love is so fucking pure. Fucked-up a little, sure, but still pure and true. And if we’re looking at facts, Carter is a killer. He’s the same as his brother, but I never batted an eye when I heard about what he did. So, what makes Cyrus so different?
“I was sixteen,” he whispers, continuing his care on my feet and pulling me back to reality.
“What?”
“We’re talking, remember?” He stays calm, as always, but I can hear the hint of something else lingering under his tone. Hurt? “I was sixteen when I found my mom.”