Chapter 10
Tori
It’s been a week since the guys’ argument following my night with Hunter. A week of awkward silences and snarky comments, of the guys shooting daggers at each other, and all of us avoiding each other.
I feel conflicted, torn between my own hurt feelings and guilt that I’m the cause of their fighting.
Especially after what Shelly told me about Bella.
It hurts to think that Flint and Cyrus think I would run off and leave, or that I’m spying for my father.
I thought we were becoming friends, that I was more than just a bargaining chip.
However, while it stung to hear how easily they assumed the worst of me, that isn’t the part of their conversation that I keep replaying over and over.
Flint said that he and Cyrus also have feelings for me.
The reason they’re so mad at Hunter is that he claimed me, and they’re worried that history is repeating itself. I want to shout that I’m not Bella.
Hunter hasn’t helped matters, either. He’s blowing hot and cold.
One minute he’s acting all flirtatious and putting his arm around my waist, but if I reciprocate, he pulls away.
Either the guys have guilted him enough to stay away, or maybe now that he’s had me, he’s losing interest. I thought he enjoyed our sex as much as I did, but maybe I don’t compare to the infamous Bella.
I’m almost relieved that he’s away on business today. I feel like I can breathe without overanalyzing every action, every look, wondering if he’s simply doing it to annoy Flint and Cyrus.
I feel a little deflated when I discover that Cyrus will be going too.
I was hoping that we could talk. Cyrus has been so kind to me ever since I got here.
He seems like the level-headed one, the voice of reason, who I could talk some sense into and might help to resolve this petty argument.
“Have a good day,” he tells me with a smile as he and Hunter head out.
I turn left, heading into the bar for my shift.
The bar is quiet; it’s the lull between the breakfast and lunch crowd.
Only a few regulars and some late breakfasters are in; they’re bleary-eyed and disheveled, hoping a big, greasy breakfast will cure their hangovers.
I notice that Flint has beaten me here. He’s already secured a seat at the bar and has started drinking earlier than usual.
Great, the last thing I need is to have to deal with a brooding Flint all day.
I glance over at his sullen face as I put my apron on.
He doesn’t look at me, but from the way his whole body tenses and he swigs his beer with white knuckles, I know he’s noticed me arriving.
Fine, if he wants to play silly games and ignore me, so be it.
I don’t say ‘hi’ like I usually would. I get to work, pointedly not looking his way.
I can feel his eyes on me like a hot brand, watching my every move.
Yet every time I glance up at him, he looks away, acting as if he was never even looking at me in the first place.
After a few hours of this, I begin to feel like I’m losing my mind and I’m imagining things.
Finally, when I’m behind the bar washing up glasses, I notice his intense focus watching me in the mirror. I glance up, meeting the eyes of his reflection.
“What? Worried if you take your eyes off of me, I’ll sneak out and run back to the Raging Bulls?” I snap.
The taboo name is practically forbidden here, and several people look up curiously before shaking their heads disapprovingly and returning their attention to their food. I spin round to glower at the real Flint, not wanting him to avoid answering.
He winces, either embarrassed that I caught him staring or guilty for the harsh words he now knows I overheard him say. “I’m sorry, I should never have assumed you’d betray us and break our deal.”
I fold my arms. I’m not going to let Flint get away with it that easily.
“Have I done anything to suggest that I’ve been dishonest?
Hell, I didn’t even come to you! You’re the ones who brought me here, kidnapping me on my twenty-first birthday.
Don’t try to act like I’m the one who can’t be trusted.
My father might be a shitty person, but kidnapping isn’t exactly something the good guys do either,” I hiss.
Flint studies me for a moment, and I worry I’ve gone too far. “You’re right,” he says softly.
My eyebrows practically disappear into my hairline. I’m so surprised. Part of me wonders if I misheard him. “Sorry, did you just agree with me?”
He lets out a puff of breath, bordering on a chuckle.
“Yeah. You’re right. What we did was wrong.
We got so caught up in the war that we didn’t think about the consequences of taking you, what it would mean for you.
Even if your dad had agreed to pay the ransom, you’d have still been traumatized by the experience. ”
“I’m not,” I blurt out. “Traumatized, I mean. I weirdly don’t even think of it as you kidnapping me, more of a rescue. I was desperate to escape, to run away, and there you were. The three of you appeared like it was fate, like you were there to rescue me.”
Flint smiles softly, a sad sort of smile that doesn’t show his teeth as he contemplates what I said with pity in his eyes. “Still. We owe you an apology. I owe you an apology. You had no choice in any of this, and you’re right, you’ve done nothing to deserve my doubts and suspicion.”
I nod, still wondering if this is some sort of trap. Flint’s earnestness has caught me off guard. I was expecting a row. “Thank you,” I say slowly.
Flint nods. “Truce?” he says, holding his hand out with a surprisingly boyish smile.
I nod and smile back, shaking it. “Truce.” I hesitate, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words. “Flint, look… I understand… why you hate my father and the Raging Bulls so much.”
“You do?” he asks with a curious tilt of his head.
I bite my lip. “I know about your dad, how he died. Cyrus told me.”
Flint’s jaw clenches, and he frowns. “He shouldn’t have told you that.”
Shit. I was trying to explain that I understand, but I’ve inadvertently made Flint mad at Cyrus, as well as Hunter.
“No, I mean, he didn’t say much, nothing to betray your confidence.
We were talking about our childhoods and how you all knew each other; he was trying to make me feel better about my shitty home life.
” I feel as if every word I utter is just making things worse.
“I just wanted to let you know that I understand why you hate the Raging Bulls and why you don’t trust me. That’s all,” I offer lamely.
When he doesn’t respond, I panic, rushing on, desperate to make it better and wishing I’d never said anything. “Please don’t be mad at Cyrus. It’s bad enough that you’ve fallen out with Hunter over me.”
He studies me, noticing my cheeks blush as I think about the reason why they fell out.
“You heard that part too, huh?” he says, astutely reading my expression.
Before I can respond, he continues. “Well, don’t worry about it.
You’ve made your feelings abundantly clear.
My initial attraction to you means nothing.
You don’t have to worry about me making you feel uncomfortable.
Let’s just pretend you didn’t hear a thing, and I never once thought of you in that way.
I won’t again. I promise you that,” he says sternly.
He abruptly rises from his stool, the chair screeching noisily on the floor as he stands.
Before I can even formulate a reply in my head, he’s already slamming some money down on the counter and mumbling about having forgotten about something.
He darts out of the bar without a backward glance, leaving me dazed and confused.
Does this mean he doesn’t have any feelings or attraction toward me now? Or is he just saying that because he thinks I don’t feel that way about him? Every time I think I'm beginning to understand Flint, he does something totally unexpected.
I don’t have time to think about it much before business picks up again, and I throw myself back into the distraction of work.
Still, I continue to replay the conversation in my head.
If he hadn’t rushed off, what would I have said?
Would I have admitted that I am attracted to him, too?
How would he have reacted? I have a bad feeling that by trying to make the situation better, I’ve only made it worse.