Chapter 22
brIAR
This feels incredibly dumb to leave,” I mutter through the helmet.
His voice cuts in with a dash of static. “I told you, we’re safe. Sub-Rosa won’t make any attempts to attack us. They just lost at least four men.”
The nice thing about wearing helmets is that you don’t have to try to hide your smile.
“Did Taylor really do all the modifications to the gear himself?” I can’t help but be impressed.
There are five of them that need gear too, that’s quite the job.
Taylor spoke about it on the way to the cornfield earlier today and wouldn’t shut up about it.
He made their jackets and helmets all bulletproof, and even added weapons compartments to their bikes.
Roman nods. “Yeah he did. Hold on tight, Squirt. I’m not letting up until we get to the peak.”
Peak? Of a mountain? I swallow nervously but do as he says and wrap my arms around him. I know the jackets have bulletproof vests built into them, but my heart is racing so viciously right now that there’s no way he can’t feel it.
I glance down at his hands and watch him send off a text to a group thread labeled Icarus.
VI: Going out for a drive. Taking Squirt.
Zeus: We’ll watch on the surveillance in town and update you if there’s movement at the laundromat.
“Which one is Zeus?” I ask, not particularly expecting him to answer.
“Taylor.”
A beat of silence.
“Is Roman your real name?” I rest my head against his back as he presses a button on the handle, and the garage slowly lifts. It must be exhilarating being in a secret military force.
Music lightly plays in the helmet’s speakers. I wonder if he’s hearing the same song, “Chandelier.” It draws a chuckle from me.
“What? I can’t like pop music?” he tuts.
I laugh harder and squeeze his chest a little more. I swear he stifles a laugh of his own. “It’s not that you can’t so much as I just didn’t pin you as a Sia fan.” He doesn’t answer my question about his name, not that I necessarily thought he would, but I tuck the thought away to ask another time.
Roman pulls out of the shop and onto the highway at high speed. I scream and hold on as tight as I can. Roman laughs again, and my heart weakens a bit at the thought of what a weightless smile would look like on his lips.
I loosen my grip after the first ten minutes and take in the moonlit scenery as he drives us up a different mountain than the party was at.
Coming from the city, I never would’ve thought I’d be able to know what it’s like to have so many mountains around one town.
But that’s just how it is out here. This one is farther away, right next to the lake, I think, but it’s hard to be sure in the dark.
As isolating as it is out here in the country, I’ve never felt more like I could belong in a place. It gives me hope.
We reach the parking lot at the peak’s scenic outlook after twenty more minutes of blissful driving. There wasn’t a single car on the road, but it wasn’t like the first night I arrived in town that gave me uncomfortable pits in my stomach. This is a deep peace.
Roman sets the kickstand and easily steps off the motorcycle. My dismount is much more unceremonious. We take our helmets off and set them on the seat.
The piney air hits me with my first breath.
It’s fresh and could be wrapped up and shoved into a candle.
This mountainside isn’t like the night of the bonfire, or even the lakeside.
It’s quiet—no splashing of water on the shore or music to scare off the bears and wolves.
It’s bone-chillingly silent. A promise that death is stalking these woods in search of its next victim.
A shudder moves through my spine, and I have to swallow my nerves. “What are we doing up here?” I ask when Roman starts walking toward a wooden fence post.
“You’ll see.” He glances back at me with a half-grumpy expression but offers me his hand. My heart flips.
Did Roman just… I decide not to question it. I take his hand and ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I’m too wary of the dark woods to argue with him.
We walk along a narrow trail that has each footstep sounding louder than the last. The path abruptly ends, and we have to trek a handful of steps farther until we reach a random picnic table.
It’s clearly been here for years, the old wood and chipped paint indicate as much.
Splintered areas and initials were carved into the boards long ago.
Roman sits on the top portion of the table and pats the spot beside him without looking my way. I glower at his back and cross my arms. He doesn’t talk much,and sometimes it feels so passive.
“Sit, Briar,” he grumbles.
I relent, pulling my knees up and resting my chin on them as I watch him. He fidgets with a pocketknife before casting a glance my way. Our eyes are locked for a few moments, our warm breaths fogging the air between us. “Would you change your scars if you could?”
What kind of a question is that? I quirk my brows at him. “Change them?” I whisper as I rub the scar on my arm from Callum. “Wouldn’t that hurt?”
I hate pain. So much so that I can’t imagine doing it on purpose.
Roman’s face is unreadable, but his eyes are curious as they take me in. “Of course it would, but changing them alters our story.” He looks down at his forearm and pulls his sleeve up.
It’s like a mural of carefully crafted wounds mixed with unintended ones. Smiley faces, stars, barbwire, even some words, although I can’t tell what they say in the dark.
“So would you, Briar? Alter the story your scars tell the world?”
Chills move up my arms and I shrink into myself, shoulders lifting and my stomach sinking. Would I? I’ve never thought about it before. I glance over at him and murmur, “What do they currently say?”
Roman hums thoughtfully before offering me his hand.
The moonlight finally peeks over the mountaintop as he does, tracing his outline at the highlight of eventide.
His raven hair almost has a blue tint, and his hand comes through the cold night as a lifeline.
His eyes are brimming with light, taking me in like he never wants to look away.
I take his hand and he guides me into his lap. My breath hitches in my lungs as he slowly lifts my shirt and sets it to the side. I’ve never felt as vulnerable as I do in this moment with my bare skin exposed to the dark woods—and to the scariest creature within them.
Roman gently runs his hand down my arm over the scar that tells the story of Callum trying to stab me, where my flesh severed in place of my life. Was he thinking about bringing me out here after he saw the scar on my shoulder yesterday?
“This one is loud,” he whispers and leans forward, pressing a kiss against my skin.
Tears form in my eyes, and I have to bite my lip to keep them there.
His eyes lift to mine and the universe stops for a lovely moment.
“It tells a story so sad and twisted that I can’t give it a voice…
but it doesn’t have to be. It can say something else entirely, Briar.
It can be a story that isn’t filled with screams and horror.
” His eyes don’t falter, even as tears stream down my face.
“What would you make it say?” I whisper.
Roman’s face softens, and a beautiful smile curves his lips. “That you cannot be overcome. You’re bulletproof.”
My lips part, and I have to swallow a few times to get the knot in my throat down. He lifts his hand and presses his palm against my cheek, wiping away hot tears with his thumb.
I manage to choke out a few words. “It was a knife actually.”
Roman grins and shakes his head. “You don’t call bulletproof glass knife proof, even though it is, do you?
” I let a few half-hearted laughs out. “You’re so tragically lovely that I can’t stand it.
A creature as gentle as you shouldn’t be running from the beasts in the dark. ” He cracks a sarcastic smile.
“What do you run from?” I ask, and he holds me a little tighter.
“Nothing, until you. You scare the shit out of me,” he admits.
I laugh and shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
Roman leans up and guides my mouth to his, not yet a kiss. “You scare me more than anything.”
My eyes widen as I stare into his. He’s serious. “Why?” I murmur against his lips. “You’re the one who’s literally bulletproof.”
A sad smile. “Am I, though? It doesn’t feel like it. At least, not anymore.”
His eyes narrow as if he’s bringing himself back into his thoughts.
He firms his lips and clears his throat before I can say anything else.
“Do you want to watch how I change my story, then decide if you want me to change yours?” He puts a breath of space between us, pulling away like he always does when he catches himself allowing too much bonding.
Roman pulls my shirt back over my head and hands me back the jacket. I shiver but am grateful to be wrapped back up in the warmth of it.
“Okay,” I say skeptically.
I’m not exactly into watching people cause themselves pain, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about his process.
Roman pulls a small circular container with red powder from his pocket and unscrews the cap. He takes a lighter to the edge of his pocketknife, cleaning the blade and immediately dipping it into the powder.
He pulls up his sleeve and points to what looks like a scar from a medical incision. The bulletproof mesh, I bet. I frown at the painful wrench that twists my heart.
With a steady hand, Roman cuts into his arm. His eyes narrow with pain, but an almost euphoric expression spreads across his face as his blood spills down his arm.
I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he shoots a look at me.
“I’m fine, Squirt.”
I have to hold myself back from trying to help him and sit patiently as he works. When he’s done, he dumps a little of the powder over his wound and lets it sit there for a few minutes before wiping it off.