Chapter Six
Rowan
I’m a fucking idiot.
Touching her was a mistake. I can still feel the softness of her slender hand on my palm.
My fist keeps tightening on the steering wheel as if it can recount every inch of exposed flesh I held in mine.
Her scent, lightly floral and sweet, fills the cab, and every breath I take is edging me closer to reaching across the console, gripping the nape of her neck, and shoving my face into the space where her shoulder and throat meet so I can get a hit straight from the fucking source.
I should have turned Atlas down.
Every moment spent in Addison’s presence is like a temptation being dangled in front of me. I keep trying to hide the deepest parts of my sick mind, but it doesn't cover what I have stashed away in the bed of my truck.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I turn into the diner just outside the city limits of New York, taking in the rundown eatery. The front steps leading to the glass doors are busted and worn, and the dim lights through the storefront glass flicker.
“This looks like a horror movie,” Addison mutters.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I pull into a spot and park, shifting to face the woman beside me.
Can she sit any closer to the door?
She hums, scanning the area. “World’s best coffee served in the portal to Hell? What could be worse?”
That fucking mouth of hers.
My palm twitches, and I cover it by opening my door and climbing out. She follows behind me, folding her jacket closed over her chest and crossing her arms as she peers around at the surrounding morning fog. It’s thick and unrelenting, but I've driven in far worse.
The bell over the door chimes as I walk over the sticky tiled floors. The air smells like old grease, bacon, and stale coffee—a staple to any good establishment.
A woman in black pants and a white T-shirt with the diner’s logo stamped on the front stands behind the counter.
She rings up a ticket as her eyes flicker to us.
“Take a seat anywhere and I’ll be with you shortly.
” She shoves her notepad into her apron before shouldering the kitchen’s swing door hard and disappearing into the back.
Addison glances around, rocking back on her heels as she shoves her hands into her lavender coat’s pockets. She tilts her chin towards the back of the restaurant. “What about that table?”
She motions to the very last red and white booth at the end, and I nod. She leads me to it, attempting to take the seat with a direct view of the front door, but I stop her.
“Take the other one.”
She halts mid-sit, lifting a brow at me. “Don’t tell me you have a designated seat—”
I place my hands on the table, growing tired of the smart comebacks as I get eye level with her. “It’s so I can see the door. Take the other side.”
Her brows pinch as her eyes flicker across my features. They shift to the door before she shuffles out and walks around me to plop down on the opposite side. “Asshole.” She mutters, taking her purse off and dropping it on the bench beside her.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slide in across from her.
I take note of our surroundings: two patrons are seated on the other side of the establishment, and one man is currently eating his breakfast at the counter.
Three people in total. I peer out at the parking lot, noting the two vehicles parked, and finally sit back.
My legs are bent, almost touching the underside of the table, and I shift slightly to get a little more comfortable. Booths have never been easy for me. There isn’t enough space for me to stretch out, and I feel like the table is too close.
“You look uncomfortable,” Addison observes before pulling her phone out of her purse. She rolls her eyes at the screen before typing something and then setting it down beside her.
“What’s wrong?” I ignore her comment, because I am uncomfortable, but there isn't much I can do without invading her half of the booth.
She taps a fingernail on the table, resting her chin in her other hand. “Talking to a stranger about my personal life? Pass.”
There goes that fucking mouth again.
My fist tightens at my side as I resist the urge to reach across and collar her throat with it.
To watch those enchanting eyes flutter as her mouth goes slack.
Her nails would bite into the flesh of my wrist as I choked her.
The only issue is, I want to feel her pussy spasm around my cock as I stroke into her with abandon.
The pain and pleasure I could bring her. The fucking punishments I would give to train her. She would lose that bratty little attitude in a heartbeat until she was nothing but putty beneath my hands.
“Maybe this stranger can help?” I offer.
She snorts. “I’m sorry, but sicking you on my last situationship does sound pretty funny.”
Situationship.
I've heard this from Thalia before. She often refers to her recent fucks as situationships.
My teeth grind. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” She gives a soft laugh that has my cock thickening against my leg. “He can't seem to leave me alone. Moving should help.”
“And you still have contact with this person?” She has no idea how dangerous my questions are.
The thoughts filtering through my mind could land me in jail for good, as that old feeling returns.
The thing I've tried to bury for years resurfaces, and my hand grips the edge of the table so tightly I expect it to splinter at any moment.
She only shrugs as she watches the fog just outside our window. “He calls sometimes, but I mostly ignore him.”
Interesting.
“Then why don't you block him?”
She shrugs again. “Maybe I want to keep the line open. I plan to come back and visit my mom twice a month.”
Like fucking hell.
I rub a hand across my mouth, nearly shaking in my seat with everything I’m suppressing. I want to figure out where this fucker lives and strangle him to death. I want to cut off his hands for touching her. I want—
“Morning. What can I get you two to drink?” The waitress pops a hip, tapping the end of her pencil on the notepad in her hand.
Addison smiles, completely unaware that I want to make her scream. “I was promised the best coffee I've ever had.”
The server takes her order before turning to me. “And for you, sir?”
I’m staring at the woman across from me, my mind on murder as my chest rumbles with my answer. “The same.”
“Here are your menus,” the waitress hands us two before jotting my order down. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
When it’s just the two of us, Addison taps her fingers on the table. “So, what—”
“I don't understand why you wouldn’t block him.”
She rolls her eyes. “Again with this? It’s my life!”
But you're fucking mine.
My eyes widen at the sudden possessiveness. I clear my throat, looking away from the enchanting woman across from me. This was a horrible idea. I don't know how much longer I can last.
Whatever is inside of me is practically clawing away at my restraint. Her smell, her voice, her reactions. It’s all too much for me. I want to drink her in like alcohol, and get drunk on her essence. Worst of all, I want to possess her.
“Topic change,” she sighs. “What are you getting out of this? Do you want money for gas or something?”
Or something.
“No.”
I get to surround myself with you until I grow sick. I get to feed whatever obsession is ticking away inside of me like a fucking bomb, and you have no idea you’re the object of my delusions.
“Okay,” she taps her fingers again. “Well, tell me about yourself. What do you do for work?”
I mimic her relaxed pose—or try to, at least. My knee bumps the table, making it hit the wall to my right. Addison frowns, looking under the table before her delicate hand touches my thigh, and I have to close my eyes at the contact.
“Extend your legs out,” she commands gently. “I’m okay.”
Fuck me.
I do as she says, straightening my limbs so they rest on either side of hers. She smiles brightly, her eyes lighting up in a way that makes my chest pang. “Better?”
Worse.
So much worse.
“Yes,” I manage, my voice straining.
“Alright, what do you do for work?” She asks again.
“Freelance.”
Her brow inches up. “There are millions of types of freelance work. Give me details.”
“Construction,” I lie.
Her look turns contemplative. “Hmm, that explains the massive truck and the…” Her eyes move over my arms before she tilts her head. “Yeah.”
“What do you plan to do when you move to Columbus?” I ask, enjoying our small talk and the way her eyes are on me.
She rests her chin in her hand, humming.
“I haven't decided yet. Loxley said I can work at the bakery, and I'm thankful for her offer, but I need numbers.
I could always handle the expenses, but Jannette seems comfortable in her position.
I don't want to impose. I may go back into finances. Get a cushy office job with two vacation weeks a year. Who knows?”
“Sounds miserable,” I comment.
She shrugs. “Any job with numbers usually is. It’s the only way I can stay close to what I love.”
No, it isn't. For a brief moment, I imagine Addison behind my desk, shuffling through expenses with a smile. She would be a fucking natural.
But for that, she would have to know what I do for work.
Loxley, Atlas, and I agreed it would be best for Addison to hear it from a friend.
Learning about a whole organization of assassins is a shock factor that takes time to get used to.
After this trip, there’s a possibility Addison will never want to speak to me again.
“Your coffee,” our server sets two mugs down in front of us, along with creamer and sugar. “What can I get you to eat?”
“I’m fine.” Addison smiles up at her.
“We’ll both take an omelet. Extra cheese and hot sauce on hers.” I hand our menus back before our waitress nods and dips behind the counter.
When I look up, Addison is scowling at me. “How do you know what I like on my omelets?”