Chapter 7 #2
“You can’t sleep, Briar.” His voice is sharp but somehow fuzzy. I groan and hold my head. It’s hard to keep my eyes open, but after Roman gets tired of shaking me every few minutes, he just turns the radio up really loud.
It’s the longest drive of my life.
Once we get to the farm and park, Roman is quick to get out and usher me toward the house. Jesus, he’s acting like we’re being followed. Paranoid much?
He grabs the sleeve of my hoodie like he did at the party, but this time he’s not as gentle with it. He guides me to the door and looks at me expectantly. “Either you unlock it and we act like normal people, or I kick it down and we can continue on with our eventful night.”
I’m two seconds from punching him in the dick, I swear to God.
I relent and grab the key from my jeans pocket.
“I don’t think you know how to act like a normal person,” I state plainly as I unlock the door and push past him.
Roman grunts and shuts the door behind us, flipping the lock as if we might be expecting visitors.
With how he’s acting, I’m starting to think we are.
He moves to the windows and shuts all the blinds in the kitchen and living room. “Sit,” he orders, pointing at the sofa I spent all morning cleaning off.
I’m tired and my head is pounding, so I do as he says and plop down. He stares down at me for a few seconds before he disappears into the kitchen. A handful of minutes later he returns with a wet towel, bandage wrap, and an ice pack.
I put on my best annoyed expression and avoid eye contact as he sits down beside me. He doesn’t speak as he inspects my head wound, and I’m glad for it. If I have to hear him say anything else, I think I might lose my temper again.
Roman gently pats the towel over the cut. I flinch and fist my hands on my legs. Despite my best efforts, a small pained whimper escapes my lips.
He hesitates, lowering his hand out of view enough that our eyes catch.
My pulse leaps—I didn’t realize his face was so close to mine.
There’s something in the way that he analyzes my features that makes me nervous.
I can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad one.
I only know that he gives me the same adrenaline rush that his erratic racing did.
Dangerous.
But not in the same way Callum was. No, Roman is a new definition of the word.
“Why did you let me think you were someone else tonight?” he asks coldly, holding eye contact with me and not letting a single thought reflect in his gaze. He should be a fucking FBI agent for his poker face alone.
I break and turn my head away. He’s so intimidating that I can’t look him in the eyes and talk. Roman grabs my chin, not roughly but firmly, and forces me to face him again.
“Why?” he asks slowly.
I swallow my pride. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you threatened me last night and I didn’t want you to literally kill me.
” Tears bubble up in my eyes, and I have to furiously blink them away because I’ll be damned if I let him think I’m anything but angry.
“I was just trying to get by you, but you thought I was your co-rider or whatever the hell she is. And I have no clue what your little cult is doing illegally, okay? It’s been a shitty forty-eight hours, and I just want to go to bed and never see your face again. ”
I firm my trembling lips and shut my eyes. He’s just staring down at me with the emptiest expression, like he has no empathetic bone in his body.
“Cult?” he sounds genuinely perplexed at my label for them.
“That’s right.”
Roman holds on to my chin for a few more seconds before letting go. I let my head lower and gaze at the floor, remaining still as he finishes cleaning and tending to the wound.
“Did you know your uncle?” He doesn’t sound as irritated anymore, more analytical and thoughtful. Curious, even. I dare to look at him and find that he looks more relaxed now. Does that mean he believes me?
God, I hope so.
“I met him a few times. We weren’t close by any means, but he was the only living relative I had left. I’m here because of the estate attorney.” I delicately reach up to touch the bandage work that Roman did.
He grabs my wrist, drawing a gasp from me.
“Leave it. You smacked your head pretty bad, and I think Bensen is right, you have a concussion.” Roman’s brow quirks a bit, with guilt I dare say.
“I’m fine.” I jerk my arm out of his hold and rub his touch from my skin. “You can go now.”
“What was the estate attorney’s name?” he presses me, ignoring the rest.
“Mr. Holland. Again. You can leave.”
Roman flexes his jaw but doesn’t move; he only watches me ever so carefully. “You’re not fine. I’m going to stay here to make sure you don’t sleep for at least a few hours.” He doesn’t sound one bit sorry either.
I narrow my eyes at him and give him a fake smile. “Great. Well, I’m hungry, so I’m going to make something to eat.” I get up and head to the kitchen. There’s not much in here, but I’m so glad I went to the grocery store today.
Roman follows me and takes a seat at the counter. He looks around the room and furrows his brows. “How well do you know Mr. Holland?” He obviously is still digging for details, and he seems oddly interested in the estate attorney.
I turn the stove on and set a pot of water on it to cook noodles. At least Roman doesn’t give enough of a shit about anything to notice how pathetic my food situation is. I turn and lean back against the counter to look at him.
“Not at all. I was surprised he even knew how to contact me.” Considering I’ve been on the run and changed my name and number.
How did Mr. Holland find me? The thought never occurred to me, and now that I think about it, it’s rather unsettling.
I shake my head—I’m sure there’s a reasonable answer, but no matter how long I think on it, I can’t remember having that conversation with Mr. Holland. My head throbs again.
Roman firms his lips like the entire idea of me even existing stumps him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He doesn’t bother asking if he can smoke it in the house, and I don’t care enough to stop him.
A huge plume of smoke rolls from his lips as he exhales. I watch and hate how sexy he is. He’s the complete asshole version of what I would want in a guy. But Roman Syxx is like broken broken. Some people fall under the shadows too deeply and they never come back out the same.
Funny, I wonder if he sees the same thing in me.
Callum killed every part of Chloe Thornton. I wouldn’t even recognize that girl. I’m just Briar. The girl no one gives a shit about, and that’s how I like it. The more someone cares about you, the more danger you’re always in.
I learned the hard way.
“I know it was you casing this house last night.” I break the silence. My arms are crossed over my chest, and the water is boiling in the pot beside me. Now that I’m not panicking, I remember where I saw the Mercedes. It’s the same one from last night.
Roman takes another deep pull from his cigarette before grinning. “And?” he says as he exhales effortlessly.
“What could you possibly want from this dump?” My mind goes straight to the flash drive, but how would Roman know about it? It sounded like even Mr. Holland didn’t know until he found the paperwork.
He leans up on his forearms before standing and walking over next to me. I stiffen but don’t budge. Roman grabs a handful of pasta and snaps it in half before throwing it in. He puts in way more than I can eat.
“I’m going to assume you don’t want to actually know.” His tone is a warning.
“That’s too much.” I frown as he adds another handful of noodles to the pot.
“I’m having some too.” His eyes flick to mine. I’m shocked for a split second before glowering. Great, now he’s eating my food too.
He’s not wrong, though. I don’t really want to know…especially if they are mixed up in some shady shit. Was my uncle tied up in all of this too? I never asked Mr. Holland how he died, but now I’m considering asking.
The noodles cook as Roman texts, I’m assuming his friends.
I’m grateful for his questions to be staved off by something else.
When the noodles are done, I grab the one sauce jar, I have, and to my surprise, Roman doesn’t say anything about it, nor does he give me shit for having the cheapest, most bland brand.
He pours half the bottle in the pot and looks to me for forks.
Okay, I guess I’m just casually eating with a dickhead tonight, concussed and wishing to forget everything that has anything to do with Bane Falls.
“Listen. I don’t trust anyone, so don’t take it personally.
I don’t think you are a danger to my squad, but I won’t let even the slightest chance slip by.
Got it? The only reason your tongue hasn’t been cut out is because I am a good judge of character, and you are the most plain Jane, helpless girl I’ve ever met.
” Roman’s words punch me in the gut before he takes a huge bite of spaghetti.
I’m happy I get to keep my tongue, though I doubt he’d actually cut it out. Tough guy. He’s secretly soft somewhere in there behind all those threats.
“What’s the story there? Is it why you’re so messed up?” I gesture to his face with my hand. He has to know that I’m referring to all the self-inflicted scars.
His eyes widen, and he cracks a smirk. “Messed up? Me? This is called control, Squirt.”
I watch him take another big bite, and my appetite is already fading. I grab a small forkful and twirl it on my plate a few times.
“How so? And why are you calling me Squirt—I feel like you’re wanting me to ask, so I’m asking,” I press him. It’s weird that he smiles at insults and nothing else. God, he would’ve been a hell of a case study in college.
Roman licks his lips and pulls down his hoodie enough so that I can see his neck. My stomach turns as I take in what looks like brand marks of fire that wrap around his throat.
“Control in how I process whatever I want, how I want,” he says like a shell of a man. His eyes are empty and loathing for everything. It’s actually kind of sad, because I thought I was the most pitiful thing in the world. Yet here is Roman Syxx.
The mess of all messes.
I choke back the urge to ask him if he’s okay. Clearly he isn’t.
“I’m calling you Squirt because you look like you’d be a squirter.” He’s full of amusement as I choke on a sip of water.
I definitely thought he was going to say because I’m short, not because I’m a squirter. “Care to elaborate?” I say smoothly, forcing myself to take a bite of food.
“Yeah, when a woman comes, sometimes she—”
“Oh my God, not that!” My cheeks flush, and I can’t stand that devious smile that tugs at his lips.
He watches me for a few seconds before taking a breath and giving me a distant look as he gets serious.
“You wouldn’t get it. How could you? Look at how unmarred and foolish you are to everything around you.
” His voice turns more vexed. Like he’s envious of my shit, simple life.
Or at least of what it looks like on the surface.
If he knew of the bad things that hid under my bed, he would swallow those words like poison. Two can poke this fucking bear.
“Hmm. Sounds like you’re using self-punishment to justify whatever it is you and your squad do, right? You’re defeated, and you cope by hurting yourself in ways you can’t forget.” I give him the same emotionless expression that he’s been giving me this entire time to see how he likes it.
The vein in his forehead protrudes, and he clenches his jaw. “I’d be very careful how you use that sly tongue of yours. I’m not opposed to cutting it out still.”
I don’t let the fear reach my eyes, even though my heart is pounding out of my chest. “That’s the third time you’ve said that, Roman. If you’re done playing house now, you can leave.”
I lift the empty pot and take it to the sink. Before I can move, Roman’s hands come down on either side of me. His hot breath coasts across the shell of my ear. I become acutely aware of every place his body is touching mine and take a deep breath.
“If you are lying about anything, you better tell me now. I won’t be willing to clear the air later, Briar.” His hard chest against my back sends chills up my spine.
A knot grows in my throat. My real name is Chloe. I want to tell him. But if he’s keeping all these secrets, my name shouldn’t be a problem. Especially since I’m in hiding.
I shake my head. “Does that mean you’ll leave me alone and I get to stay?”
He’s motionless. “For now. You’re involved in this, so you don’t really have the luxury of leaving anymore.”
“Involved in what exactly? And I get to keep my tongue?” Unnecessary to add, but I can’t help but push his buttons.
He shifts away and unblocks me. I turn to face him. His dark hair is messy, a few locks hanging over his brows. His features are sharp yet so soft in the crappy kitchen lighting. He’s dangerously lovely. A dark ocean that would drown me in a second if I dared to wade in too deep.
His gaze softens a fraction. “For now.” A slight, mocking grin that may or may not reset my headache.
I watch the stolen SUV idle two hundred feet down my driveway for an hour after he supposedly “left.”
Is he watching me?
A terrible feeling coils in my chest. I don’t think it’s just a cult.