22. Odell
TWENTY-TWO
ODELL
“Knock, knock.”
I didn’t know why I’d said that. Why not just rap my knuckles on the door? I couldn’t because I was holding a tray, and I didn’t have shifter reflexes that would allow me to balance it on one hand.
Now I regretted my decision and backtracked away from the bedroom, assuming that was where Hunter was.
Having fallen asleep in the car last night, I had vague memories of coming into the bungalow—carried in by Hunter—gruff men checking out the garden and inside before allowing us in. And me being placed in a sumptuous bed with fluffy pillows and a lighter-than-light quilt that cuddled up to me and soothed me to sleep.
After a trauma-inducing few days, I’d have expected to sleep fitfully, tossing and turning, nightmares—similar to the one at the cabin—penetrating my dreams and waking me. But when I opened my eyes, it was morning.
And I was hit by a pang of disappointment when I sat up and there was no Hunter on the floor and no evidence he’d been here during the night.
Damn that mafia shifter! I was his fated mate. Why wasn’t he checking on me every few minutes?
My annoyance was irrational, and I flopped back onto the mattress with my eyes closed. There were bodyguards outside and I guessed cameras everywhere. Stefan had been… I tried to come up with a word the mafia might use instead of imprisoned and perhaps tortured. Contained, perhaps
I shivered, hoping Stefan wasn’t dead, but if I was honest, my reaction was because I would always be looking over my shoulder until we got the whole story and Draven located. Stefan was dismissive of his nephew, so perhaps a just punishment would be them in the same cell for the rest of their lives.
My mind went back to the guys in the alley, hoping they weren’t lurking. But as I’d possibly run over one and managed to get away from them, I doubted they’d outthink and overpower Hunter’s men.
Glancing down, I discovered I was wearing the clothes from yesterday, minus the shoes. He didn’t think to undress me? Sleeping in a shirt embedded with the acrid smell of gun residue was gross, even though it was pink, my favorite color. He should have taken it off. Hunter was supposed to adore me, want to be with me at every moment, and yet he hadn’t undressed me.
I ran that line over in my head.
He’d left my clothes on because he was a gentleman. I guffawed at using that word to describe a mafia guy. But I’d been asleep and couldn’t give permission to undress me. That was why. Honorable? Could that word be used to describe a mafia man? Mine, yes. Oops, that slipped into my head. Mine in name only.
But I needed food and coffee, and that would rid me of thinking about Hunter.
He didn’t cook, so there probably wasn’t much in the house, and we’d left most of the food we bought at the grocery store at the cabin, along with the car. I’d developed affection for that red beast and would love to own it. But as my future was uncertain, I had no money to buy it. Not that it was worth much.
Maybe that could be my getaway driver payment.
I put on a robe that had been draped over the bed and opened the bedroom door. Strewn on the floor was a rumpled blanket, pillow, and gray hairs. I was getting better at interpreting signs of shifters, and Hunter had slept here and shifted.
There was a trail of clothes leading to another closed door—of which there were many in this huge sprawling house. Too big for one guy.
Unlike his uncle’s cabin, the main room was ultra modern, with metal, glass, and neutral fabrics. It gave off a clean vibe, but I’d be worried if I dropped a crumb or left a stain on the glass coffee table. And those corners! Ouch! I’d avoid those. Not that I’d be here long.
In the open kitchen, the counters were sparse except for a scary-looking coffee maker. I had no idea how to operate it. With no phone, as I’d given the phone with the recording to Flint, I couldn’t research it. But I discovered an enormous walk-in pantry and instant coffee.
Without thinking, I grabbed two mugs and, not finding an electric kettle, put a pot of water on the stove. Waiting for the water to boil gave me time to think. I pretended this was my house and wondered what it was like to wake up here, wander the extensive garden and belong to a boisterous extended family. It was a comforting image.
It was me who needed coffee, and yet I was making one for Hunter too. Despite the home’s lack of ambiance that contained none of Hunter’s personality, it was his home, and I was at ease here as I wandered around barefoot.
Could we have more than a friendship? I’d kissed him and he'd responded, but the motivation was fear I wouldn’t return, that he’d be left with no memory of our intimacy.
What if we shared a home, muddled along together so I’d be in his life, not as a lover or partner but… a what? And would it be enough?
I made the coffee and found a tray before carrying them to his room.
“Come in, Odell.”
His voice brought me back to the present. I was a distance from his door, having backtracked.
“Can’t. Holding a tray.”
The door opened. Hunter in the morning was the best Hunter, with tousled hair. Though lunchtime Hunter was pretty good, as I thought back to the meal in the panic room. Late-night Hunter who made a TV dinner was pretty sexy, but the Hunter who held me as I woke from the nightmare was the best Hunter. Or maybe the Hunter who returned my kiss was the bestest Hunter.
“Odell?”
“Mmmm.”
“You were miles away.”
“Right. I was doing a survey in my head of the best… ahhh, coffee.”
“Okay.” The number 11 lines between his brows furrowed, and I was tempted to tell him they should be number… I wasn’t sure.
“What’s the opposite of 11?”
“Minus 11?”
“Of course. Silly me.” My head was full of morning Hunter, the one with his head cocked to the side, contemplating me.
“Glad we got our morning math problem out of the way. Is that a ritual in your home?”
Not in the place I shared with my aunt and uncle. But here, maybe.
The room wasn’t just a bedroom but a suite with sofas, a desk, and attached bathroom. He placed the tray on the table between two sofas and beckoned me closer.
Were we going to talk about the kiss or assume it happened in a moment of stress? What happened on the stakeout before almost getting killed, stayed at the stakeout perhaps.
“I didn’t get to phone Aunt Lousia. She must be frantic.”
He gave me a phone, and we both held it with the hands that bore our mating marks. The warmth from his skin seeped into mine, reminding me of the quilt that covered me last night.
Our eyes locked on one another. An air of sadness hung around Hunter.
“You’re wearing my robe. Looks better on you.”
It scented of fabric conditioner but also of him. “Sorry, it was on the bed.”
“I left it there for you.” There was silence as we sipped our drinks. “You’ll be going home once we clarify the details on Stefan, the Silverbacks, and Draven’s whereabouts.”
Two days ago that would have brought me joy. Moments ago I’d wondered if we could share a home, but now that he’d brought up me leaving, my belly contracted as if I was going to throw up. He’d been in my life for two days and yet the idea of being parted from him tore shreds off my heart.
“But not yet.” He glanced at me as he spoke.
“Not yet.” He’d never love another, and that burden weighed heavy, knowing he’d be alone for the rest of his life.
“You know, in the past, people were happy with arranged marriages.”
“Mmmm. That happens in packs if people never meet their fated mate.”
“Maybe.” I was about to say something that might be the biggest mistake of my life. “We could try that ‘cause we mated and married?—”
He shushed me, and his pained expression was more apparent than earlier. “No.”
What the fuck? He wanted me more than anything, and yet he refused with one word. No explanation, nothing that softened the blow. He just alpha-ed his way into the discussion and slammed my idea. Maybe all that stuff about the alphas of old and how things had changed and blah blah blah was just BS.
“Huh? You didn’t let me finish.”
“It wouldn’t work.” I went to speak again, to tell him he was an ass, but he continued with, “It’s sweet what you’re trying to do.” He patted his chest. “In my heart, I would love that more than anything. But you don’t care for me the way I do for you, and you would end up resenting me.”
I wouldn’t. Anger was festering inside me, and I wanted to smack him, make him see sense, but he was, “Oh woe is me . I’ll never love anyone else. You have to go and live your life.”
“Don’t tell me what I think and how I feel. You jerk!” Something was seriously wrong with me. I was being the asshat, and I didn’t know where the frustration and rage was coming from. I’d never behaved this way previously. Being around the mafia had done a number on my head.
I stomped through the door but ended up in the bathroom, one for a damned king.
“Need me to sing?”
I gritted my teeth, wondering if I needed a retainer, and hissed, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Thought you might be claustrophobic.”
I charged out of the bathroom, eyes filled with tears, rage spilling out so I was trembling. “No. You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I’m sorry.”
His defeated expression tore at my heart, but I plowed on, anger fueling me.
“So you should be. It’s been two days since we met, I think.” My ability to do math was diminished. “But you.” I stabbed a finger against this chest. “You… you mafia guy, you.” Obviously I’d lost my mastery of the English language as well. “It’s ridiculous. Two days. Forty-eight hours, not even half a week.”
“Are we doing math again? Because if we are, I need a calculator.” He tapped his phone.
“Ahhhhhh! Fuck math, fuck English, fuck everything. Fuck you.” That was a lot, and Hunter’s face, his hot, handsome, caring, protective, confused face didn’t help. “I don’t know that I can match what’s in your heart, but I feel something for you, you big… big… nincompoop.”
“Something like rage?”
His words popped my anger like a pin in a balloon, and I laughed, a hysterical sound that should have worried anyone listening.
“No. Something like… love.”