Chapter 7 #5
His brows draw together as I lean down to take his glass from him.
He lets me and I toss the contents back too before setting the glass on the coffee table.
I slide into his lap, my thighs straddling his hips and sling my arms over his shoulders.
His hands fly to my hips, holding me in place.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears, but my body…
reacts. Oh boy does it react. Traitorous little bastard.
It’s admittedly been years since I’ve been with anybody, and even this small contact is enough to set every nerve in my body on fire.
I suddenly need and I need very, very badly.
No, no, no. I try to remind myself that he’s a cold-blooded killer.
You’re one to talk, a part of my mind whispers, but it quickly shuts up as I start to lose my ability to think rationally.
Maybe this arrangement won’t be so bad after all.
I mean, hate fucking is a thing…but even with psychos?
Sure. Why not? There are plenty of dark romance books about it, right? It’s definitely a thing…
“What are you doing, Melody?” he asks, voice a little gruff. He clears his throat lightly.
“Isn’t this why I’m here?” I ask in a whisper as I lean towards him.
“To be one of your whores?” Though he hadn’t outright said it, of course, I’d assumed, and apparently so did both Tricia and Renee.
Plus, I’d caught him stealing appreciative glances at me more than once over the years.
I’m not ignorant enough to think that my looks and body weren’t part of the reason I’d been such a successful agent before the end of the world.
Of course, that wasn’t all I was, but my looks could be a huge asset—or a weapon, depending on the situation—so why not use them?
Now, I realize, they can be both. The idea of seducing Austin Traeger quickly flits through my mind.
I’d taken down bigger targets than him this way, made powerful men fall in love and forget themselves and their agendas.
Could that work with him? Maybe I could use my body to get certain concessions from him.
Like seeing Jonah again. Hope flares. Maybe I can be more than just “one of his girls.”
He stiffens and turns his head away just before my lips met his. He gently pushes my hips away, keeping space between our bodies. I pull back and stare down at him in confusion.
“As enticing as that offer is, and as much as I appreciate the sacrifice you were prepared to make,” he says, cold sarcasm thick in his voice, “I’m going to have to decline your offer.” Huh? Is he…turning me down? What the fuck?
“Why?” I blurt. He gives me a hard look, jaw ticking.
“Do you really want to be one of my whores?” He says the word like it tastes like vinegar. No. Yes. Maybe?
I press my lips into a hard line, annoyed by my conflicting thoughts when I know damn well it should be a firm and unequivocable fuck no. He nods, taking my silence as an answer.
“That’s what I thought. So, why don’t we just get to know each other a little bit instead?”
He glances pointedly down at me, wordlessly telling me that I should remove myself from his lap.
I blink and scramble off, swallowing hard.
Relief floods through me, of course, but I’m also a bit…
indignant. And disappointed. And ok, maybe even a little embarrassed.
He doesn’t want me? Seriously? Sure, maybe I’m a little rusty in the charming-men’s-literal-pants-off department, but still.
It’s the apocalypse for fuck’s sake, and beggars and choosers and all of that, and fuck, I don’t even know what’s going on right now.
I don’t understand what game he’s playing and decide anger and irritation are better emotions to feel right now than anything else, so I push all the other things aside and focus on those.
I glare at him as he rises and returns to the bar before coming back with the entire bottle, pouring us both another drink.
I take it and sip, eyeing him distrustfully.
“I already told you, I know enough,” I say, keeping my voice even, determined to act like nothing had happened.
Yet again, he’d surprised me, more inconsistencies to drive me insane.
The man who kept a literal harem of women to use as he pleased, and who had taken me as a hostage to again, use as he pleased…
didn’t want to use me as he pleased? I don’t fucking understand.
One brow arched, he asks, “Care to enlighten me?” I shrug. “Alright then, how about I ask you some questions then?”
I stand and start to roam around the room.
“I don’t think I really have a choice, so go ahead.”
“Fair enough.” There’s a bit of amusement in his voice now. “What did you do before the world ended?”
“A little of this, a little of that,” I say vaguely as I move towards his desk.
I add honestly, “I worked on a shrimp boat for a while when I was younger.” I turn back to look at him.
“Also at Hooters for a whole four hours before I got fired for breaking a guy’s hand.
” My lips curl at the memory and I don’t miss how his eyes flare at that.
I snort and turn back towards the desk, surreptitiously studying the contents strewn across the surface.
Notes and maps and statistics and projections and…
The Divine Comedy—in fucking Italian?? I shoot him a look over my shoulder, eyes narrowed. Who the hell is this man?
“Where were you before The Cove?”
“On the road, mostly. We tried to settle into more permanent places a handful of times, but never found anywhere truly safe until we ended up there.”
“And when you say we?”
I sigh and prepare for the stab of pain that’s coming.
“Me and Jonah. I’ve known him for over half my life.
We were together long before the world went to shit, and have been together every step of the way since then.
” My eyes water so I turn away to pretend to study the art on the wall again.
Over my shoulder, I continue, “We joined another larger group a few years after it all started, and what was left of us ended up at The Cove eventually.” Anger begins to burn, temporarily chasing away the sorrow. I turn and glare at him.
“And now I’m here, to be tortured via twenty questions, apparently. I personally prefer waterboarding or bamboo shoots under the fingernails. Really has that wow factor, ya know?”
“An expert in torture, are you?” he smirks. Oh, you have no idea. I ignore that and wave him on, taking another drink while I wait for the next question. “How’d you get to be so knowledgeable about security?”
Again, I give a half truth. “Married to a Special Forces guy. Picked up a few things over the years. Pillow talk and all that.” Mitch had been Special Forces, but that isn’t where I learned most of what I know.
“Is that how you became the alleged crack shot then?”
“No alleged about it, counselor,” I say with absolute confidence. He merely keeps studying me in that unnerving way, so I continue scoping out the place since he hasn’t tried to stop me, moving towards the bookshelves.
“See anything of interest?” he asks.
“Well, I expected to find the full library of Dr. Seuss, but alas, I’m disappointed.
” He chuckles low at that. Really, I’m desperate to borrow half his titles.
Some are old favorites that I haven’t thought about in years, others I wanted to read but never got the chance to.
Some just look cool or sound interesting.
He’s got a crazy mix of genres too: classics, historical and military texts, epic fantasies and space operas.
He even has three entire shelves dedicated to graphic novels and comic books and—
Click.
I whirl.
“Seriously? FOS? Fortress of Solitude??”
He smiles a little crookedly and looks…adorable?
Fuck me. So, add nerd to the profile. I almost smile.
I’d been to Comicon on multiple occasions, even dressed as Supergirl a time or two, come to think of it.
Then I want to scowl. I don’t like that I have things in common with Traeger.
I don’t like that these bits of information make me want to smile or laugh or get into heated debates about comic legends.
I don’t like thinking that, in another world, we might actually… get along? Like each other? Fuck that.
“What about family?” he asks next. Alright, that’s enough of that.
“Enough about me,” I snap.
“Ask away,” he says in invitation, unperturbed and raising his glass to his lips once more.
“I don’t need to ask anything. I told you, I already know enough.” It’s only a half-truth now that I’ve been in this room, but I still have mostly him pegged. He gets that challenging look in his eyes again.
“Then, again, I invite you to enlighten me, Melody.” The way he says my name…I fight a shiver. God, what is wrong with me? I’m going to blame it all on emotional distress. The past few days have been a whirlwind and a mindfuck and my mind and body are reacting in weird ways. That’s all.
“Late thirties to early forties. From southern Georgia most likely, not the low country though. Highly educated. At least semi-fluent in Italian. Athletic. Right-handed.” His face remains impassive as I speak save a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“You were married, but she’s gone, maybe has been since before the end.
You feel guilty about something to do with her.
You worked with kids, maybe a teacher or a coach, but you didn’t have any yourself. ”
“And how would you know that?” he finally asks, interrupting my assessment, his green eyes stirring with…
something. Interest? Annoyance? Anger? I hate that I can’t read him clearly.
He can guard his thoughts and expressions much better than most and that in and of itself intrigues me.
Was he just naturally that way? Had he been taught? Had circumstances demanded it?