Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Too risky.”

  “But they must be so worried.” My throat tightens, my eyes burn. “God, this is insane.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it right now,” he says, voice firm. “Just try and stay calm.”

  Easy for him to say. My mind won’t stop racing. Fear apparently makes me chatty. Or maybe some part of me thinks more information will make this situation easier to get a grip on. “So you’re in charge of the zoo? They all seem to look to you for direction, follow your orders.”

  “I’m the current most experienced operative.”

  “Who’s Scorpion? Was she your real… Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  We speed away from the house on dirt roads, dust rising all around us and the sun beating down. No idea where we are. No idea what’s going to happen. And the scent of blood still fills my lungs. The visual of Spider’s corpse remains lodged inside my mind.

  “Calm your breathing, Betty. I don’t have time for you to have a panic attack right now.”

  The asshole’s got a point. My chest is heaving. A sheen of sweat covers my whole body. He turns up the air-conditioning, blasting me with cold air. It helps a little. So does taking long, slow breaths.

  “Never seen a dead body before,” I say quietly.

  “I know.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  He glances over at me, his mouth a firm line. “No.”

  “All right.” I nod. It probably makes me an idiot, but I believe him anyway. “Why am I still alive? I was asleep just a couple of rooms down, with no one between me and Spider. It would have been easy.”

  “The killer would have no reason to want you dead at this point. Whoever it is has probably marked you as a strategic liability, thinking it will be easier to deal with me if I need to focus on protecting you.”

  “Is that true? That I’m a liability?”

  He swallows. “You’re going to a place where I know you’ll be safe. Then I’m going to go deal with this.”

  “You’re dumping me somewhere?”

  “I thought getting away from me was what you wanted.”

  “Really, you want to do this now?” I turn in my seat, all the better to face him. “Thom, you were never home. If it was your physical presence that pissed me off, all I had to do was stay right there. But it wasn’t. Our relationship itself was complete and utter bullshit.”

  “In what way?” Now he sounds almost angry. This is quite possibly the most honest emotion that I’ve had from him in forever. “Because I had to travel for work? To earn a living?”

  “Because even when you were home, you were never really with me. Mentally and emotionally, you were elsewhere.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “To be fair, this whole discussion is pretty absurd.”

  The dirt road ends and we turn onto something resembling civilization. More houses. Occasional people and other cars. Signs of life, normal life. People going about their mornings without their whole world turned upside down and the threat of imminent death hanging over their heads.

  “How was I not with you?” he asks, definitely getting testy. “Every time you wanted to bitch about some idiot at work or talk about who Jen was banging, I listened. Even when you were just repeating yourself, I was attentive and supportive.”

  “You know, I don’t think you’re as good at pretending to be interested in things as you think you are.”

  “I always let you pick what we watched on TV, let you decide what takeout we got.”

  “Is that all a relationship is to you?” I ask, any hint of a panic attack long forgotten. This insight into Thom’s mind is fascinating. And somewhat disturbing.

  “It wasn’t all a lie, you know.”

  “Honestly?” I arched my eyebrows. “What part of it was real?

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I love you.”

  I laughed. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. “Well that’s ironic. Because that was the one thing you said to me that I didn’t believe.”

  “Why not?” He scowls. “There was intimacy. We had sex.”

  At this, I scoff. I can’t help it.

  “What?”

  “Our sex life was not amazing.”

  It takes him a moment to respond. “The average cohabitating couple has sex approximately fifty-one times a year. When you deduct time spent away due to work, we met the average.”

  “We met the average? Huh,” I say. “How I aspire to always meet the average. It’s my life goal, really.”

  “Bring on the sarcasm. What a surprise.”

  “Oh, yeah? How’s this for sarcastic, Thom? More often than not the sex sucked—and not in the good way.” So there. “I bought lingerie and read all of the stupid articles about tips for the bedroom. I tried to keep things interesting.”

  His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Most women don’t manage to climax every time they have intercourse with their partners. I’m sorry, but I had to maintain the median…the illusion of us being a normal couple.”

  I just blink.

  “It’s a well-known fact. Studies show that—”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, my brain on fire. “Are you actually saying you researched the average relationship, worked out how often we should be having sex, and then only occasionally bothered to give me an orgasm when it suited your purposes?”

  “Not my purposes. Your purposes. I was trying to give you the relationship you wanted. Something safe. Normal.”

  “Give me your gun.” I hold out my hand. “I’m going to shoot you.”

  “Betty—”

  “Give me your gun.”

  “I’m not going to let you shoot me. Calm down.”

  “I don’t want to calm down.” So. Much. Rage. “Not only was the relationship fake, but you deliberately gave me bad sex! You’re a monster.”

  He gives me a side glance. “I was trying to keep things realistic, believable. I was trying to meet what I thought were your expectations.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, expect to be smothered if you ever try to sleep next to me again.” I straighten in the seat, staring out the windshield. “I can’t even…there’s a special level of hell for you, buddy.”

  “I gave you what you wanted. You said that’s what you wanted.”

  “What?” I felt like my head was about to explode. “When? When did I ever say to you that I would prefer the worst sex possible?”

  “Not to me. To Jen. Before our first date. You said to her that you were sick of pining for Prince Charming. That something safe and good and comfortable would do.”

  “You were tapping my phone? Listening to my private conversations?”

  “I needed to know you weren’t going to be a security risk.”

  There are no words. I just glare at him.

  “I tried to be a good boyfriend to you. A good fiancé.”

  “No, you didn’t. You did the least amount of work possible to keep me pacified. Big difference, Thom. Big. Huge.” I will not cry. I refuse to show weakness. At least I didn’t expect the truth to actually fix anything. Yay me for being less naive. “Thank God.”

  “What?”

  “Thank God I raised my expectations high enough to realize I deserve better.”

  To this, he apparently again has nothing to say. Just as well.

  “For so long, I thought it was me. That I wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough or…just enough for you in general.”

  “Betty.” His mouth opens, then closes again. “That’s crazy.”

  Heart sore, I shake my head. “Just drive.”

  We drive north for hours. Thom is basically a machine. Like some killer robot sent from the future to fuck up my love life. Clearly the world would have been doomed if I orgasmed more than once a month, so the fate of humanity depended on this machine coming back and not getting the job done. Asshat.

  His gaze is constantly moving between the road, the rearview mirror, me, and cars approaching on the driver’s
side. Guess he’s watching to see if we’re being followed. Also he may be slightly concerned I’m going to throw myself out of the moving vehicle in an attempt to get away from him. And I would; I’m angry enough. But it probably wouldn’t end well for me personally. After being thrown about by yesterday’s explosion, I hurt enough without adding further injuries. So instead, I ignore him with all the pent-up rage I have in me and mostly nap.

  We drive until refilling the tank necessitates a stop that afternoon somewhere in northern California. It’s a small, desolate, off-the-highway gas station. Junk food, come to me. I haven’t eaten in forever. We did stop about an hour back so I could pee behind a tree, since Thom’s gone well beyond cautious and is sliding straight into outright paranoid territory when it comes to his concerns about people seeing us. Along with keeping up the constant vigilance, he swapped out the SIM card in his cell, crushing the old beneath his boot heel. Apparently his cell also has a program to check for trackers so he’s sure the SUV is safe. And I know he’s packing all sorts of weaponry beneath his clothes.

  “Thank God; I’m starving.” I move to open my car door, but before I can, Thom grabs my arm. “What?”

  “Please stay in the car. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

  “Why? There’s no one else here but you, me, and the woman behind the counter. I highly doubt she’s the least bit interested in us.”

  “Because even a dump like this is going to have security cameras that can be hacked and used to find us.”

  As much as I’d like to get out and stretch my legs, he’s making sense again. Dammit. So I slump back against the seat. “Fine. Get me one of everything.”

  “Will do.”

  Thom grabs a baseball cap out of the back of the car and puts it on before stepping out. Head down, he avoids giving anyone or any camera a clear visual of his face. He skulks, yet makes it seem normal somehow. Just a man going about his business, nothing to see here. Inside, he fills up a basket before heading up to the counter to pay the bored-looking middle-aged lady at the register. Even then, he moves with an easy everyday swagger, behaving in as uninteresting a fashion as possible. It’s quite the performance. The slouch in his back reducing his height and the slump of his shoulders declaring him another harmless slacker passing through.

  No wonder he had me fooled for so long. This man is a veritable wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  “You’re a natural,” I say as he climbs back in the car, handing over my bag of junk food.

  “Hmm?”

  “The way you move and behave and everything. So sneaky.”

  He turns on the engine, reaching over to grab the bag of Swedish Fish.

  “Where did you learn it?”

  His glances at me. “I’m not supposed to talk about that, Betty.”

  “Yeah, but I figure if you’re right about us being stuck together for the foreseeable future—”

  “Which, unless you’d prefer being dead, I am.”

  “Let me finish talking,” I say. “Once we get through this, if we survive, I’m sure you can figure out a way to pacify your bosses while ensuring we spend as little time in each other’s company as possible. You’re a clever and cunning dude. It comes with the job territory, right? So we get your organization off our backs and live separate lives. See other people. Have our emotional and sexual needs met elsewhere.”

  “You’re planning on cheating on me?”

  I shrug. “Is it really cheating, though?”

  The look he gives me is flat and unfriendly.

  “Or,” I continue, “you can start talking.”

  “Me talking is going to fix things?”

  “Not even remotely.” My laughter is completely without humor. “But here and now, we could maybe get along just enough to almost be friendly.”

  “Remind me: What’s in this for me again?”

  “Are you actually telling me you want to resurrect our relationship in some form?” I cock my head. “Seriously?”

  The smallest of shrugs.

  “That’s honestly the best you can manage? And you wonder why I was leaving you, with such stellar communication skills as that. Wow.”

  “C’mon, Betty—”

  “You know, you’re the one who dragged me into this mess,” I say, well and truly cranky now. “Basically, you talking would be a start toward attaining a little forgiveness and building some small level of trust between us…assuming you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

  Nothing from Thom. Perhaps he’ll get sick of me and kill me himself. After all, what do I know about this man really?

  “Isn’t it nice, having me all compliant and agreeable?” I ask.

  “Isn’t it nice, riding in comfort instead of being bound and gagged in the trunk of the car?”

  What an utter and absolute douche-canoe. And this is about when I see it. “Holy shit. A man is robbing the gas station.”

  “Is he?” Thom doesn’t even turn to look. “Car’s bulletproof. We’re fine.”

  “Yes, but the woman behind the counter isn’t. Oh my God, do something!”

  He cocks his head. “Betty, we’re trying to stay under the radar. Crimes like this happen all the time. She’s handing over the money. He’s not going to shoot her.”

  “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “What I do know is, if I go in there and spook him, odds are someone gets hurt.”

  Inside the station, the woman is pushing the cash and packets of cigarettes across the counter. She’s crying and shaking. The robber stuffs all of the assorted loot into the pockets of his sweatpants and hoodie.

  “Oh, this is horrible.”

  “See, he’s leaving without a shot being fired.”

  “That poor woman. She might lose her job. I wonder if she even has medical insurance. You’d have to get post-traumatic stress disorder from something like this, right?”

  The heaviest of sighs comes from the man in the driver’s seat. “Put your seat belt on,” he orders. “Now.”

  I do as told.

  Thom swears under his breath. His eyes are locked on mine, but suddenly the SUV jumps forward, tires screeching as he suddenly slams on the brake.

  We don’t hit the robber. Or at least, I didn’t think we did, but he is on the ground screaming, so obviously something happened.

  The driver’s side door is flung open, hitting something with a dull thud. I think it was the gunman’s head. Then Thom steps out, grabs the pistol out of the bad guy’s hand, before settling himself back into the car.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No,” says Thom. “I just ran over his foot and knocked him out. Couple of broken bones and a concussion. The lady at the counter is already calling the cops. She’ll get the cash back, and he’ll be fine. It’ll be educational for him.”

  Huh.

  With more squealing of wheels, we take off. Guess Thom wants as much distance between us and the gas station as possible.

  “A couple of broken bones and a concussion?” My stomach turns queasily at the thought. “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “Still, thank you for not being a complete sociopath.”

  “You’re welcome. But we can’t save everyone, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  In all honesty, I’m kind of stunned. He did a nice thing, sort of. Used his powers for good instead of evil. Maybe he’s not too far removed from the basically kind and ethically moral person I thought he was. Only, there’re still all the lies and bad sex to be considered. His willingness to waste my life on a fake relationship to keep his cover intact. So yeah, not very deep down, I kind of still hate his guts and want to shoot him.

  “Like I told you, I came up in the foster system,” he says, tossing a Swedish Fish into his mouth and chewing. “Spent most of my time running wild, getting into and out of trouble. Eventually they’d get sick of me and pass me on to the next foster home. No one really cared what I did.”

  I always figured th
is aspect of his background accounted for his being somewhat emotionally stunted. A loveless childhood is bound to leave its mark. And I hate thinking of him being alone. My family has its foibles, though there’s affection there too. We care about each other. I tried to give this to Thom, but he proved remarkably resistant to any and all exchange of feelings. At least now I know why. Not only did his childhood suck, but he was probably trained to go without. I can only imagine that forging bonds, having actual feelings about people, makes it harder to disappear when the job is done. Had to make it harder to kill.

  “Enlisted in the army first chance I got, turned out I was good at something after all. Kept myself out of trouble and worked hard,” he continues. “Worked my way up to Ranger before I got tapped for this. Thought I was trying out for Delta, but it was not.”

  “You’re not in the military anymore?”

  “Nope. This is closer to what you’d call private-sector work. No government oversight. Private funding.”

  “What’d they do to you?”

  “Put me through the damn wringer. Made the training I’d had up until then look like a joke.”

  I nod, turning all of the information over inside my head. “But you’re the good guys, right? You’re trying to make things better?”

  “Yes, Betty. Trying.”

  “In what ways?”

  Now he’s really frowning. “All sorts of things. Stopping terrorists, dealing with hostage situations, trying to prevent genocides, tracing nukes, obstructing arms trades. Basically cutting the heads off snakes.”

  Sounds like he’s fighting the good fight. But I still wish I could read him. I used to think I could, but now I know I don’t have a clue. In this current situation, he has all the power. I’m pretty much along for a ride that might wind up killing me. One that I have no foreseeable way of getting out of. Being so dependent on someone sucks. But then, everything about this pretty much does. “And that’s the truth…what you just told me?”

  “Yes, that’s the truth. We’re not always successful, but we try.”