Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8)

by Allison White

  “Noah!” I hear her call my name.

  I open my door. “Just fuck off, Red.” I pull it all the way open with the full intention of getting in and driving away without any plans to stop, well, anywhere that she’d find me. Rope me in, just to break my heart again.

  I can’t even count how many times she’s hurt me. Or how many times I’ve taken her back, forgiven her.

  “No.” She slams the door, and I spin around.

  “What do you want from me?” I scream in her face, and she steps back, face fallen and pale.

  “Why are you screaming at me?” she huffs. She can’t be this dense.

  “Because you fucking ditched me after we fucked and then ignored me when I was just worried and confused. And—cherry on top—I find you on a freaking date with the asshole who knocked me unconscious.”

  “He wasn’t the one who did that,” she sighs. Am I boring her now? A disgruntled sound falls out of my mouth, and I fist my hair. She makes me freaking crazy.

  “Do you know who did it?” Of course she does; she was partly behind it all. I would have thought it was her had she not dropped me off That Night. Harsh blow, but I can’t control the rage simmering under my skin, curling around my heart.

  “No, I don’t—but he’s a prep under all that black. He wouldn’t do that,” she says, but her tense stance and avoiding my eyes tell me another story.

  “Oh, you would know that. You guys seem very close,” I lightly accuse her.

  She laughs. “Seriously? Are you trying to accuse me of knowing someone?”

  “No, I am accusing you of leaving me for him yesterday.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can formulate them. I don’t want to accuse her of this, because I know she wouldn’t ever do this. I’d like to believe that she loves me and wouldn’t betray me like that.

  She flinches and takes a step back, like she’s been shot in the gut. “I would never do that, Noah. Never.” Her eyes blink rapidly, and she swallows deeply. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’re here with him!” I shout. I sound stupid, but what else am I supposed to think? I can’t ignore the fact that she did leave me for him, and Tanner, in the past. And now—now when we’re together, it’s like she’s too afraid of hurting me in the long run, she’s getting it over with now…or there’s a reasonable explanation but she’s hiding it for some reason.

  She pinches her nose bridge. “I left yesterday because I had an exam I had to complete.” What? She completely ignored what I just said.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” I am breathless and exhausted. Why must she make things so goddamn complicated for no apparent reason? Does she get off on this tension and anger rolling between us? If so, she’s more fucked up than I could have ever thought.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t know you would blow up like this.” Her hands gesture to me sporadically.

  “I’m ‘blowing’ up because you left! You just left! Do you know how many times you have left me? And every fucking time I take you back, every time, my heart breaks a little more. I am sick and tired of it, and this time—damn it, I thought we were over this, Red.” I pant for fresh air and frantically rub at my flushed face.

  “Can you please stop being dramatic?” she asks, and I gasp.

  “Dramatic? How am I being fucking dramatic when I’m telling the truth?” I gripe through my teeth.

  “Damn it! I don’t like him, Noah—not even remotely!” she screams back. “He’s a prick I messed around with in the past, but that’s it. It was the past!”

  “And he’s here with you now because…?” I question.

  “Because I…” She draws short and looks at the ground, suspiciously so.

  “Because?” I inquire and take a step toward her. She takes one back, and I huff out, “Would you stop walking away from me and answer the damn question? Why are you here with him?”

  Please tell me—tell me the truth, Red, for once. Just tell me the damn truth.

  “Because I had some…things to discuss with him,” she says, and I laugh tiredly.

  “All right, Red. You can go in there and keep your secrets to yourself. I’m done,” I say, and she actually looks regretful and steps toward me. “No.” I hold up my hands when she reaches for them, hold them to my chest, and maintain perfect eye contact with her. I hope she can see how distraught I feel that she’s being secretive, not letting me in once again. “I’m done with feeling like shit, like I’m not enough for your secrets and ploys. If he’s your secret vault, go dish it all out to him, with him. Just leave me out of it.”

  There is no way of telling how much I’ve crushed her by the looks of her glossy eyes and trembling lips. My heart slows, and I want to reach down and comfort her, but the hurt and pain she’s put me through one too many times pulls my hand away and guides it to the door handle. I pull it open and am climbing in when she manages to grab my other hand.

  I hesitantly turn to look at her; she’s biting her lip, cheeks red as cherries, eyes staring at her combat boots. “What?” I sound harsher than I want. What I really want is her to tell me everything without any hesitation. But she won’t, and I can’t wait around and wish for something that won’t ever happen.

  “Can you…can you give me a ride home? My car’s at Majesty’s,” she says, and I want to say something backhanded like, Why don’t you get your boyfriend Ian to take you home? But I am not like that, and despite how hurt I feel, I still love her and would do anything for her. And I would literally rip his fucking head off if he did give her a ride.

  “Sure.” I keep my tone cold, façade hard, and slip into the car and start the engine.

  ***

  The ride to her apartment complex is extra-long, prolonged by tension and unspoken words. The only sound is the thunder and rain patter as it began to pour ten minutes into the long drive. I do a great job of keeping my face clear of any emotions. She’s already played with them more than I can count. I don’t need to add another time to the ever-growing list.

  She keeps silent and does an uncharacteristically bad job of giving off a blank expression. She peers out of the windshield with dimmed blue eyes and a frown that tugs at my heart strings. The urge to reach over and soothe her with a stroke of my thumb against her embarrassed, flushed cheek is so irresistible that I have to grip the steering wheel harder to keep myself from doing so.

  I hate this space between us, how easy it is for her to push from me—from us. Why can’t she just want me as badly as I want her? My stomach rumbles then tightens. What if she doesn’t even love me? What if she’s just playing with me yet again, and I’m too stupidly in love with her to see it?

  “You do love me, don’t you?” I blurt out.

  Her head snaps toward me, and the shock and confusion are clear on her mouth curled down into a frown. “What? Of course I love you. Why would you ask a question like that?”

  “How can’t I?” I say breathlessly, pathetically smiling softly. I tilt my head in an angle and look at her through my peripheral vision. “You ignore me, see other guys, run out on me after we…” I pause and close my eyes, exhausted and just hurt. “Sometimes I think I love you too much…”

  Her sharp gasp is louder than the thunder. “No…no, I love you, Noah. I love you so much, it should be freaking illegal. I—I love you more than I should be allowed to.”

  I smile sadly, shaking my head. “It doesn’t feel like that sometimes. Not when you do stuff like this.” My breathing stammers when I feel her small palm gently touch my jaw. I clench it under her hand and listen to the thunder and the whisper of her breathing against my cheek.

  “I don’t ever mean to hurt you,” she says softly, her voice trembling.

  My eyes open to find her vivid blue eyes boring through mine. “Yet you do it anyway.” The crack in my voice is too much to cope with, and I close my eyes and turn away, turn away from her loving touch. I need to find a way to breathe or I think I’ll pass out.

  “Noah, please…�
� she says, and I feel her fingertips on my shoulder, but I just shake my head. I can’t listen to her lie to me, not right now. I feel the shock and sense her fingertips hovering over me for what feels like an eternity before I hear the door slam shut.

  I face the steering wheel, force myself not to run after her and comfort her. I heard the light sob caught in her throat before the door shut after her. Why does this have to be like this? Is this what love is supposed to be? Pain and insecurities and doubt? Is it supposed to hurt this much? If so, I don’t want anything to do with it. I just want her without this so called “love.” I just want her, goddamn it.

  I hit the steering wheel, screaming my freaking lungs out before my bandaged hands beg me to stop. I cry into my itchy palms for a few minutes before deciding I want her. I am going to shake out the damn secrets and lies, and I am going to have my girl—once and for all.

  With this very vague plan, I jump out of the car and into the heavy rain. I lock it and jog up the stairs to the complex. A lady is leaving, so it’s easy to sneak inside without having a key. I’m dripping in front of the mail box set-up. I frantically search for Red’s name. When I finally find it, I rush for the staircase, seeing that the elevator would take too long to get me where I need to get to.

  On the fifth floor, I’m smacked with a heavy weight caving in on my chest. I have this sickening sense that something is off—entirely wrong. The black-painted doors are peeling, and the air of the long hallway is pungent and heavy. But that isn’t what’s putting me off. My steps toward 5G are slow and cautious. I look around, alert and ready for this feeling inside of my bones.

  I reach her apartment, but the door’s been kicked in, the knob hanging onto a thin wire. The worry kicks in, and I push open the door the rest of the way. The second the door is open, creaking and tilting, I find her…on the floor, her face bloody, and a guy in a black ski mask jumping onto the fire escape.

  “Red!” Panic is clear in my voice as I run over to her.

  She sits up, slumping against the wall. “I’m okay.” She coughs out blood. “I’m…I’m okay,” she insists and tries to stand up, but I push her down and cup her face, checking for injuries.

  “Calm down, calm down.” I look over at the guy jumping onto the fire escape, rage pushing through my veins. I want to chase after him, push him over the railing, but she coughs more blood onto my hand, and I quickly dial 911 with shaky fingers.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The paramedics arrive in less than ten minutes. Before then, I apply pressure on the cut on her cheek. But it just won’t stop no matter how much I add more pressure. It elicits tears to form and assuring kisses on her forehead and cheek, no matter the blood. I need to keep her calm, but she constantly assures me that it is okay, that she is fine.

  The only thing I can think is what the hell is wrong with her? A damn burglar busted in and hurt her this badly, and she’s saying it’s okay, that she doesn’t want the cops or to make a big deal out of this? I assume she hit her head when he pushed her or something and is out of her mind.

  Now, I’m leaning on a wall in the tiny living room. The coffee table has a broken leg and the TV in front of it looks like it’s from a former generation or two. I focus on the features of her small, almost non-functional, apartment. I haven’t ever been in her home before; it’s kind of odd yet satisfying to be in this extension of her, no matter how…grungy everything is.

  The kitchen is separated from the living room by a half wall, and when I walk in to grab a water bottle for her, I find nothing in the fridge but cheese and beer. She must be the only person on this planet able to survive on just these two things. Nonetheless, I spot bottled water hidden in the back and grab it.

  The shorter of the two paramedics groans as he pushes to his stubby legs. “We’ve done everything we can, and she doesn’t have a head injury,” he tells me in a low voice, thick with years of smoking, while scratching the patches of hair on his chubby red face.

  “Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I know how rough having a head injury is. How fuzzy and out of it you feel. She still suffered quite a few blows, and it physically pains me to look at her. I hate that instead of helping her fend off the asshole, I was having a breakdown and crying in my freaking car.

  “She’s good to go,” grumbles the tall dark paramedic. The wrinkles by his thin mouth tighten in annoyance when Red swats her hand at his. He’s trying to wag a light in her eyes, but she won’t have it. “You can take Advil or any other over-the-counter pain killers for the pain, and she’ll be all right. But if you have any serious migraines and/or problems with your vision, drive straight to a hospital.” To Red, he tilts his head and drawls, “Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” she grumbles and stares at the ground, as if this is beneath her.

  What is going on with her? I want to ask her, but she’s too irritable for me to do so. I’ll wait a while, get her to calm down. I just don’t understand why she’s behaving this nonchalant. Does she get abused by random burglars nightly? If so, what kind of fucking boyfriend am I?

  The men walk out, and I thoroughly thank them for their service.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to will the thoughts to stay in my head. I cross my arms and flit my eyes away from Red and look at the police officers waiting outside of the apartment.

  “Officers,” I call out to them, waving them in.

  “What are you doing?” she hisses.

  “Reporting this,” I say, frowning. Why is she so opposed to this?

  “Well, don’t,” she grits out with a low groan. I look to her, and my eyes widen. She’s trying to stand but is struggling, her knees shaky, lips quivering. I swoop in, arm linking around her waist, the other tugging on her arm. “Stop it.”

  “No, why are you acting like this?” I ask her.

  She just sucks on her lower lip.

  I sigh, frustrated by her odd behavior. I quietly ask her to be cooperative, earning no response if not an intelligible grumble, as I guide her to the small ripped leather couch. I gently set her down beside me, and the two officers waltz in and stop in front of us.

  “We’re going to ask a few questions, if you don’t mind,” the lankier of the two says around a loud sigh as he slowly pulls out a notepad and pen.

  “I do,” Red mumbles.

  “Stop it,” I whisper in her ear.

  She rolls her eyes, and I sigh and look to the other officer with a smile.

  “She’ll answer everything you need,” I tell them, but I don’t know how true that is.

  “Great,” the other cop says, groping his mustache. “What did you first notice when you entered the home?”

  She shrugs. “Darkness.”

  “Darkness,” the cop with the notepad repeats and jots it down in his little notepad.

  “Anything else? Opened window? Was the door already unlocked?”

  Red mumbles at first but rolls her eyes and murmurs, “Nothing was out of the ordinary,” when I gently kiss her temple. She can talk about this; I have her. I always do.

  More repeating, more jotting.

  The other seems to chew something, maybe gum? Whatever it is makes me flinch and her to do the same whenever it snaps. I flash him a pointed glare, grinding my teeth together. Can he shut the fuck up? He’s making her crawl into herself just by doing that. He slows chewing and holds eye contact before stopping altogether, begrudgingly so.

  Thank-fucking-you.

  Minutes pass, and she shrinks smaller and smaller with each question they throw at her. I feel annoyed myself, and she gets right to the edge of shoving the pen up the man’s ass but proudly stops herself before she can get arrested instead of the real criminal.

  While the other rests his hand on his hip, Red stiffens and shrinks in my side. I frown and tap her shoulder, silently checking up on her. But she just shakes her head slightly and keeps her eyes glued to the floor.

  My heart expands and huffs at the sight of this beautifully powerful girl
shrunk up beside me like a feeble cat that’s put away her sharp claws.

  “And the man himself? Did you recognize anything about him?”

  “No,” Red answers.

  “Can you identify his ethnicity, age, any special marks about him? Tattoo, birthmark, mole—”

  “I said fucking no, didn’t I?” she snaps in a low growl.

  Lanky cop brushes his thumb against his holster, and I gasp.

  “What the fuck? Why are you brushing your holster? She did nothing wrong!” I shout, losing control.

  “Please calm down, miss, and sir, no one was reaching for anything,” the note-taking cop assures, holding up his palm in a friendly manner, but I don’t feel very friendly right now. That motherfucker was reaching for his fucking gun when she’s just tired of being hounded with questions, when they should be looking for the guy who did this to her!

  “Yes, he was!” I snap again, ready to kick them out and look for the guy myself. We’ve wasted enough damn time playing twenty-one questions; he could be in freaking Canada by now!

  “Sir, please…” note-taking officer pleads softly.

  I ignore him, staring at the fidget fingers cop, daring him to withdraw his weapon. There will be hell to pay if he shoots either of us for being irritable when we’re the victims. You’d think they’d switch out the deadly weapons with rubber ones to avoid taking more people’s lives.

  Luckily for him, though, he withdraws his hands and pulls them across his chest, scowling at me. He can try to intimidate me however much he wants to.

  I’ve already memorized his fucking badge number.

  “Miss, can you please answer the questions? Just try your best. We’re trying our best here. We want to catch this perp as much as you do,” the nicer man of the two says, caterpillar brows hugging each other.