16. Sawyer
Chapter 16
Sawyer
When we finally made it to our dinner date, Fiona fidgeted across from me, anxiety twitching through her limbs. Perhaps she was concerned that I would clear the table and eat her pussy again, this time in front of everyone. Or perhaps she had finally watched the video. Her posture was stiff like she was holding something back, always on the tip of her tongue. I should have asked her what was going on.
But why was I even with Fiona when I should have been out there, killing Roth myself? But I knew why.
Because I had given her my word, and I wasn’t going to let her down.
Because I loved her.
She twirled her fork in the pasta, the strips of sun-dried tomatoes and darkened basil coloring her plate.
“You’ve barely eaten,” I said.
“I’m not that hungry.”
I cleared my throat. Was she playing games with my head? Trying to make me worry about her ?
Dessert came, then: two dishes of crème br?lée.
“You’re thinking about the managerial position,” I said.
She concentrated on the caramelized crust, then nodded slowly. That hesitation—she was lying. But if that’s what she wanted to claim she was upset about, then I would go along with that. I didn’t have time for drama. I needed to finish our meal, so we could move on and I could kill Roth.
This was why I was never supposed to have a girlfriend or a wife. They distracted you from what was important.
“You could earn the manager position soon,” I said.
“Is it earning the position if I didn’t get it based on skill?” She lifted her shoulders. “If Erica deserves it, then she deserves it. Just because I can keep my mouth shut doesn’t mean I should get the job.”
Once again, Fiona had stopped me. It wasn’t about simply getting what she wanted, but actually proving herself. Her arched nose. Those pouty lips. For once, she had worn dark lipstick, similar to what her sister wore. Was she feeling insecure? Wanting to hide behind a mask?
“Winning the game with me shows that you’re persistent,” I said. “That when you want something, you go after it. And that sort of ambition is crucial to management.” I tilted my head. “I have faith in you.”
Her forehead furrowed in question, and it was the exact same with me. I didn’t understand myself anymore. Did I want her to fail? No. Did I want to ruin her perfect image of herself so that she understood that the world wasn’t her oyster? That even good girls like her had to suffer? In a way, yes. Because no one had a perfect life, and she needed to understand that. It was the only way she could find her strength and overcome her weaknesses.
Perhaps that’s what I needed to do too. To understand that Fiona was my weakness, that she saw me for who I was. And that I needed to find my strength to overcome her. To show her that I was in control.
But I wanted to protect her and nurture her, too.
“It’s not always up to you,” I said. “You either have luck on your side, or you don’t.”
I pulled one of the dice from my pocket. Her eyes widened at it, like she finally recognized me from her past. It was a rare one. Red for blood, silver for weapons.
But she didn’t say a word.
“Whenever we roll, it’s a fifty-fifty chance. Even or odd.”
“Okay. Odd.”
I shook the dice in my hand, then let it bounce to a stop on the wooden table. Three silver dots gleamed at her.
“Again,” I said.
“Odd.”
This time, I rolled a two.
“Let me roll this time,” she said. I handed her the dice, and she shook it in her hand. “What’s your guess?”
“This isn’t my game. It’s yours.”
“Odd.” She held her breath, then rolled the dice: four little dots. The corners of her mouth sunk down.
“You can’t control everything,” I said. Though I didn’t know if I was saying that to her, or to myself. I couldn’t control my feelings for Fiona, nor could I control what she would do. She had proved that to me. “Even if you’re the one rolling the dice, that doesn’t mean you can tell it what side to land on. Shit happens.” That was how it had been with her little sister and my mother. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t bring them back.
“But why?” she asked. “Why leave it up to chance when at least you can make sure that you do everything possible to make sure it works in your favor?”
“Because sometimes even that isn’t enough. ”
Her face softened like she could read right through me, seeing the pain inside of me of what I had lost too. But my phone buzzed, interrupting the moment; Wilder flashed on the screen. I answered, not bothering to give myself privacy anymore. If she hadn’t seen the video yet, she would see it soon, and whatever we had together would be over.
“Yeah?” I said.
“We found Roth.”
“Where?”
“Hiding in Lakeville,” he said. “Looks like an old relative’s cabin.”
Lakeville was about a fifty-minute drive from where we were in the restaurant, but we could make it there sooner if necessary. “Send me the coordinates.”
The buttons clicked on his phone. “Done.”
“Be there soon.”
I threw a couple hundred on the table, then pulled Fiona with me, guiding her by the arm, ignoring her questions about where we were going.
Lakeville was a woodsy community outside of Pierce, filled with plenty of lakes and waterfront cabins. I pulled up to the lake closest to the coordinate. The dark surface of the water reflected the moon, and across the lake, there was one cabin with a light on.
One of our hunters was posted in the trees. I parked on the opposite side of him, pretending like Fiona and I were lovers, only here to make love in the wilderness. The water sloshed on the rocky shore. I found binoculars in the trunk and shifted them into focus on the cabin’s window.
A dim figure hunched over a glowing screen. Roth was planning something.
A car drove around the lake, then parked on the side. Someone—a woman, maybe, slightly longer hair—parked, then entered the cabin.
She pulled the curtains, and then it was too hard to see. I put the device back into the trunk, and Fiona stared at me.
“What are we doing here?” she asked. Her voice was confused, like she wanted answers, but already knew the truth.
Those words hung in the air between us. We. Whatever this was, we were doing it. Together.
“Hunting,” I said.
She stiffened, like she finally understood.
I pictured her kneeling like my mother had, waiting to die next to the pond. Fiona’s luminescent chestnut hair would cover her face like she was shy, hiding behind it. The metal of the barrel cold on her skin. Her hands tied behind her back.
One twitch of my finger, and Fiona would be gone. A hole in her head surrounded by deep red cushioned flesh.
One flick of my finger, and this wouldn’t matter.
One roll of the dice.
I had kept her alive because murder wasn’t my obsession. Control was. Controlling Fiona meant exercising my power, proving to myself that all people were the same: all you had to do was find their one desire, and they’d kneel before you.
But Fiona wouldn’t break.
The stars glowed above us, like a backdrop to Fiona’s beauty. Her brown eyes were dark, reflecting me. Did she understand what I was capable of? That I could have killed her sister? That I could have killed my own brother? Did she know that I truly had killed my father?
What was stopping me from killing her? Was it chance? This lack of control over my emotions ?
Was it because I had fallen for her?
“You know I love you, right?” I said in a quiet voice. Her shoulders stiffened, and I turned away, wishing I didn’t love her. Wishing that I could picture her dead in a ditch and be okay with that stillness. That I could put a bullet in her head and not question my instincts. Because if she were still a stranger, I could put her in the incinerator and never have to bother with these weaknesses again.
I couldn’t accept that fate anymore. But when it came to her, perhaps I never had.
“Sawyer,” she whispered, “I?—”
“Forget it,” I said. I didn’t need to hear those words back. But admitting it made it real. And what was there to say? I couldn’t change how I felt. I climbed back into the car and Fiona stood still, her arms wrapped around herself, gazing up at the sparkling sky, those stars shining on her face. Like the whole world stopped to watch her.
I wanted to never forget that moment.
I sighed when she moved, knowing that it was over. She joined me in the passenger seat, and we drove back in silence to her apartment. It took longer than I expected; I kept slowing down unintentionally. My mind kept wandering off, picturing Fiona on her knees, begging for her life. Fiona tied up against the hay rack, her intestines ripped open, spilling on the floor. Fiona with a gun up to her head, staring into the camera lens as I pulled the trigger.
The light was on in her apartment. I studied it, trying to see if anyone was in the shadows. She opened the car door, and I did too.
“You don’t have to,” she said. I wanted to make sure that she got home safe.
As we walked up to her floor, rounding the corner on the stairs, my eyes narrowed in on her open door. My fingers wrapped around my gun. Something wasn’t right. Her jaw dropped, and I shoved her behind me.
Picture frames had been ripped from the wall. Her new computer lay in two pieces on the floor. The fridge was left open, milk and orange juice spilled across the counter. Her bed torn apart. Making sure she stayed behind me, I checked each space of the apartment—the closet, the bathroom, the shower, even under her sink—anywhere someone might hide. Once I was positive the house was clear, I faced her. We needed to get out of there.
“What the hell?” she whispered, her voice near tears. It made me want to strangle whoever had done this to her.
“Any idea who did this?” I asked calmly.
Her eyes widened. She clicked through her phone and found an email, showing it to me.
We are contacting you regarding your relationship with Sawyer Feldman. This is an official warning. Do not make any more contact with him, or we will have to take action.
I clenched my teeth, willing my emotions to get under control. I was going to kill whoever did this. And then I was going to teach Fiona that there were some things you didn’t keep from me, especially when your life depended on it.
“You didn’t tell me about this,” I growled.
“It was a long time ago. I didn’t know what you’d do,” she said. “And you weren’t exactly the most trustworthy person.”
I never claimed to be trustworthy. But I had also never lied to her.
It had to be Hatchcom Focus. They knew that she was with me. That I cared about her.
They had found my weakness.
“You’re staying at the farm tonight,” I said.
“Excuse me?” she asked .
“It’s not safe here.”
Her lips shook, and I was glad. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was her life we were talking about.
And I needed to stop screwing around. Roth had to die. Right fucking now.
We drove back to the Feldman Farm, passing through the grounds until we stopped in front of my brother’s house. Fiona shifted in her seat.
“You’re not taking me home with you?” she asked. Guilt fell on my shoulders, making me sink. I wanted her with me. But it was safest for her with Wilder. Not with me.
Wilder wasn’t the leader; I was. And if they were harassing Fiona, then that meant that they were coming after me. “You’re safest here,” I said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
She held herself. Each step she took toward the house made my chest sink. I should have said something. Should have promised her that we would figure it out. That it would be okay. That we would be fine.
But there was no ‘we’ in this situation. It was my fault that they were after her, and I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
As she knocked on the front door, I realized I had only one choice: I had to make Fiona leave me. That was the only way Roth, or any of my future enemies, would leave her alone. She would never be safe with me.
I would make her leave me, even if I had to hold a gun to her head.
Because I could never leave her. I would always come back. But if she left me, I would be forced to let her go. For good, this time.