Chapter 8 Remi
REMI
Can you fall in love with a person’s tongue? Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Streeter’s tongue. Not him… but I’d put a ring on his tongue and marry it if it asked.
And I have to admit there’s a small part of me that feels the same—extremely inappropriate—affection for a killer when he pulls me out of the shower and dries me off.
From the look on his face, I expected him to put me on my knees or bend me over the counter so he could fuck me.
It was what I’d offered. It was what Trevor would have done if he’d been the one in front of me.
Instead, he drags me to the bedroom and half pushes, half drags me down to the mattress.
“Aren’t we going to…” I trail off, because I’m willing to.
Even though I’m a little dizzy, and I kind of feel like I need to pass out, or sleep for a week, or have another small panic attack.
Maybe I wouldn’t be able to manage whatever that dark look in his eyes has in mind, but I’d try for Streeter.
Before any of those feelings can overwhelm me, he crawls into the bed and wraps his arm around my waist, like he wants to make sure I’m not going to run off anywhere. It’s only a little embarrassing when I melt into the sensation of it like a puddle.
“You look like you’d pass out if we tried, Hummingbird.” Streeter leans down, nuzzling into my wet hair for a second and dropping his lips to my ear so he can add. “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”
Ominous. It sounds… kind of ominous when he puts it like that.
Does he mean plenty of time because he’s not going to let me go now that I’ve seen his face?
Or plenty of time because of the snow? My eyes drift over his shoulder to the window and the sheet of white still pouring down.
If Trevor wasn’t dead, I really would have loved to tell him I fucking told you so.
But he’s dead… and I’m pretty sure if I start thinking about it too hard, I’ll spiral again.
Since that’s the last thing I want, I nod and squirm down into the sheets, unsure if I’m going to be able to get comfortable with a man I don’t know holding onto me like he’s afraid I’m going to run out in the middle of the night.
Which is why I’m shocked at the way my body melts against his as soon as he yanks me so my head is pressed to his chest. His heartbeat is steady, and his body is warm…
and for the first time in a long time, I feel myself relax while someone is holding me.
Trevor wasn’t really much of a cuddler—we had separate blankets, and he let me know that clinging to him wasn’t attractive.
Streeter actually slides his hands along my arms and drags them around his waist until I’m wrapped around him like an octopus.
It’s almost strange for someone to want me to touch them like this.
What’s even stranger is that I fall asleep before I can remember to ask him if he plans on killing me before the snow melts.
I’m aware of two things when I wake up. One, Streeter has his arm around my waist, and I’m still wrapped around him like he’s the only thing keeping me anchored to the ground.
And two… my face is buried against the warmth of his throat, but the back of my neck is freezing. I open my eyes and glance around, and immediately realize that something is off.
Well… more than something. It’s not just a “you’re in bed with a serial killer” kind of off.
It’s the power.
The power is off, and the light that manages to slant in through the window is coming through sheets of white and frost that completely fog up the glass.
Fuck, I’ll never be able to tell Trevor I told you so, because I’m pretty sure he has to be under a million feet of snow by now. At the bottom of a thousand-foot cliff. Buried.
When I try to sit up so I can get a better look, the arm around my waist tightens and my body is jerked back to the mattress, to the heat of Streeter’s chest and the hard press of his lean muscles.
I can probably pretend it’s the strength of his grip that knocks the breath out of my lungs, and not the way his eyes look warm and sleep drunk when he stares down at me.
“Where are you going?” And then, after a beat. “And why is it so fucking cold in here?”
My mind is suddenly racing. Is he going to realize now that keeping me alive was a bad idea, that he’s trapped in this cabin with someone like me? Is he going to—
Streeter leans his head down, brushing his lips across mine and swiping his warm tongue into my mouth before I can work myself into a frenzy. I’m not sure if he did it to stop me from panic-blabbering, or because I’m here and warm and everything outside the little bubble we’re in is freezing.
Whatever the reason, my body instantly relaxes into his—I really do have issues—and I melt into the sheets, forgetting for a second why I was worried at all.
When he pulls back, he looks me over for a second like he’s confirming that he managed to shut me up, then he pushes the cover back and frowns. “Seriously, why the fuck is it so cold in here?”
“Power’s out,” I manage in a small voice, and he looks around like he’s only just noticing that there are no lights on, no hum of the heater. Nothing.
“Well, shit. That’s not good, is it?” He’s up and moving before I can so much as peel myself from the mattress, dressed and ignoring the bloodstains I can see on his shirt.
He’s out the door before I can ask what he’s going to do, and then I hear metal squeal and something heavy thunking against the wall.
My eyes drift to my bag, and I check my cellphone to see what time it is—entirely too early.
And… there’s no cell service. Did it go out with the power? I was hoping it was just a downed line, but if there’s enough ice to mess with the cell towers… well, shit. If I was hoping to call for help, I guess that was out the window and in the snow.
I power my phone down to save the battery and start getting dressed.
I’m a little slower than usual. I’d packed for a few days, so I have clean clothes I can pull on.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer Streeter any of the things out of Trevor’s duffle bag, but I’m not sure if he’d appreciate it.
Instead, I bite my lip and wander into the living room just in time to see him striking a match to light the fireplace.
His eyes flick from the flame back to me, and he arches a brow. “Still up to keeping me warm, Hummingbird? Looks like we might be stuck here for a while.”
That nickname rolls through me, and I feel a shiver trail down my spine. It probably has to do with the cold, and not the way I’m reacting to a killer feeding me back my own proposition. It definitely has nothing to do with the way he’s looking at me like he’s delighted at the prospect.
“Yeah, I am.” I have no excuse for the response, or the way I start to drift into the room, lured toward the wicked grin on his face like it’s a siren call. At least I stop when I’m halfway to him, my eyes dropping down to the red stains on the floor. “I…”
Fuck, what am I doing? Everything about last night comes back to me in waves—the way I’d nearly been put in my place by Trevor and his friends, the way Streeter had killed them without so much as blinking…
The way I’d helped him haul the bodies outside and then let him…
My stomach twists. I can’t even say it’s because in the light of day, and when all the adrenaline and shock has faded, I’ve realized how fucked up this all is.
I remember the way he touched me and my body lights up like fireworks.
Still…
I slide my hands across my stomach in a vague attempt at self-preservation, or maybe to stop myself from doing something stupid, like reaching out to him… and then I tilt my head and glance around.
“Do you, uh… do this often?” The question is so fucking stupid, because he’d been too good at what he’d done for it to be a one-off, and I—
“I don’t make a habit of sleeping with people I’m supposed to kill, no.”
My jaw drops, because that wasn’t what I was asking him at all, and by the absolutely devilish curve at the corner of his mouth, I know that he knows it wasn’t what I meant.
I latch onto the words supposed to, and my fingers clench at my side tight enough that I can feel my nails biting through the fabric of my shirt hard enough they’ll probably leave marks.
The anxiety from last night threatens to curl up and steal my breath away again.
Like he can tell, Streeter steps across the room and threads his fingers through my hair, yanking my head up to look at him.
“Does this place have a generator?” His practical question catches me off guard, and his touch grounds me.
What the fuck? How can he see straight through me when I was with Trevor for years and he didn’t give a shit or care when I was starting to feel off? My fingers slowly unclench from my sides, and I lift my hands, drifting my digits along the warmth of his wrists.
Up close like this, I’m completely drowning in the way his eyes look almost molten, and I feel myself take a deep breath that goes all the way through me, carried by the warmth of his touch, when at any other time I would have been dissolving into panic by now.
I should have been dissolving into panic, because the hands holding me steady are hands that had killed an entire room of people.
But…
But he’s looking at me, and his fingers are tugging gently in my hair to keep me focused, and I shiver. “I think I saw a building out back last night when we were…”
Getting rid of evidence.
Implicating me as an accessory to murder.
“Cleaning up,” he supplies, and I nod.
“Right. Cleaning up. They might have something out there.” Even if it was just a small generator that could run a few essentials, that would be better than nothing. The fireplace would keep us warm…
And…
Well… there were other ways to make sure we didn’t get cold. I’d offered him that, right? I hadn’t actually expected a blizzard to make sure I was ready to keep that promise.
Streeter gives one more tug on my curls before dropping his hand to his side.
“Okay, let’s check it out. There should at least be more wood for the fire out there…
and maybe something to actually fix the window.
That picture frame isn’t really doing shit.
” His eyes drift to the broken glass on the ground, and what he’d done last night flashes through my mind all over again, tearing another tremble through my body that I can’t ignore.
He’s a killer.
He’s dangerous.
I’m expendable.
And for some reason, I feel helpless to do anything but follow him as he heads outside into the snow.