10. Sebastion
SEBASTION
SELF-PRESERVATION
Lincoln:
Me:
I’m not your dog, bitch. I’m not even your subordinate. How’s my code keeper?
Speak.
Ijust know he’s gnashing his teeth. Probably pacing Scarlett’s apartment. Or his hotel room. Or fuck knows, the state governor’s private bedroom. Wherever he’s declared his home base, I know he loathes relying on me for updates about his precious baby sister.
Lincoln:
Nova’s with me, safe and sound and not spilling your secrets. Your turn. Bitch.
I sit on the back porch and take out my binoculars, not because Scarlett is particularly far away—a hundred feet at most—but because I enjoy the cute little stress lines fanning away from her eyes.
I love catching glimpses of her dimples, especially when they’re a result of a smile, and not of her rage toward me.
I like to nudge my binoculars just a little lower, to count the throb of her veins on the side of her neck.
The rise and fall of her chest.
The fluid sweep of her hand as she graduates from drawing angry little squiggles in her notebooks, to beautiful sketches of the house next door.
Lowering the binos and setting them in my lap, I pick up my phone and type out my reply.
Me:
She’s sitting in the snow, but not shivering. Drawing your house. She’s been going for an hour or so.
Lincoln:
Good. I sent her a text a little bit ago, but she hasn’t replied.
Me:
Cos her phone is on the kitchen counter. Which is kinda dumb, considering her life COULD be in the crosshairs if this dude is a trained psycho rather than, say, an admirer who wants her attention.
Have you taught her nothing?
Lincoln:
I’ve taught her plenty. Not having her phone probably implies she feels safe. Leave her alone, don’t hit on her, don’t torment her, and don’t piss her off enough that she’s tempted to end your life.
Me:
Why? Would you miss me if I was dead?
Lincoln:
No. But if you’re dead, she’s gonna get in her car and try to follow me. Doing that would make my life a hell of a lot more difficult.
Did she eat today? She skips meals a lot when she’s anxious, which means you’ve gotta keep an eye on that, too. Make sure she eats.
Me:
She had eggs and avocado on toast for breakfast.
I hit send and grin.
Me:
She didn’t even bitch me out when I served it. She ate two pieces of toast, all except the crusts. She made a cup of coffee, and then she made a shaker cup with water and protein powder.
Seems she’s aware of the meal-skipping-during-crisis thing, cos she’s stocking up with the powder.
She sat in her room for an hour after breakfast. Pretty sure she was drawing.
Showered around 10:30.
Blow-dried her hair, which took about 45 minutes.
Seems a waste, considering the snow settling on her head right now.
Lincoln:
Okay. I got it. You’ve been watching.
Me:
Went back to her room for a bit.
I heard something go bang, and then she swore. Now she’s limping a little, so I reckon she destroyed her toe. Not my fault.
Lincoln:
Enough now. We’re done.
Me:
Grabbed an apple from the bowl at 12.
Spent fifteen minutes pawing through her pencil case at the counter so she could find her favorite pens and shit.
Slipped them into her back pocket around 12:20.
Tucked a sketchbook under her hoodie around 12:24.
I don’t think she wanted me to see it.
Does she realize she can talk to a doctor about her anxiety? Probably cheaper than all the pens she buys.
It’s weird.
Lincoln:
Enough already. Fuck!
I told you to watch her. To keep her alive. I didn’t say shit about micromanaging every tiny thing she does.
Being up her ass this much is gonna make her anxiety worse, dickhead. Just leave her alone.
Eh.
I trade my phone for the binos and bring the viewer into focus.
But where I expected to find a woman engrossed in her art, I lock instead on a pair of fierce blue eyes and plump lips flattened into straight lines.
She stares straight back at me. Burning.
Beautiful. And so fucking done with everything, she makes me lower my hand again so I can simply look at her with my regular eyes.
She’s a fuckin’ princess, alright. But the Disney kind, set out in the snowy mountains with her long, fragrant hair fluttering in the breeze.
I can smell her from here, I swear.
She just needs a family of deer to wander up. Maybe a little bunny. A bird perched on her shoulder.
I break the electrical current pulsing between us and unlock my phone instead.
Me:
I’m not up her ass. In fact, I haven’t been within a hundred feet of her in over an hour.
If you think a man has to be within reaching distance to observe his mark, then you’re woefully undertrained and probably gonna be the reason your current mission fails.
That’s embarrassing.
Any updates on your end? I’ve got places to be, and babysitting your high-maintenance sister is fucking with my plans.
Lincoln:
No updates. But I’ve got eyes on this dude Jones. Recon for now.
Me:
Fuckin’ useless. Cutting comms now. Don’t text me again unless you have news.
I lock my phone and lift my binoculars once more.
I can’t help myself. Bringing Scarlett into focus, my brows pinched tight over my eyes, I study her changed posture, her turned frame, her pointed glare.
I follow her toned arm down to the notebook in her hand, to the page she was working on, but now it faces me.
Finally, I bark out a cathartic laugh and stare at the heavy-handed ‘FUCK OFF’ defacing her pretty picture.
Princess Scarlett is feeling big feelings today.
Dropping my hand and grabbing my phone, I push out of my chair with a chuckle and consider it time for a perimeter check anyway.
Scarlett Castro has an attitude problem, that’s for damn sure.
But it’s better than the abject fear she feels when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
The nail-biting and shifty eyes. The literal fucking chant she repeats in her room, where she attempts to convince herself this isn’t as bad as life used to be with Daniels.
You’re okay, Scarlett. You’re safe. Everything is okay.
I considered her weak and annoying when she first turned up. I still consider her annoying at least half of the time, but I see strength, too. I see fierceness. I see a woman unafraid to tell me to fuck off… and mean it.
She ended the life of the man who destroyed her peace, and promises every single day to lace my dinner if I keep my bullshit going.
Which is why I’ve been cooking our meals.
My momma didn’t raise a fool.
Four days after Lincoln and Nova rolled out of the driveway and headed across state lines, I stop in the living room doorway and spy Scarlett curled up on the couch. Her feet on the cushions, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her eyes were stuck on the television.
Now they’re on me.
Nighttime darkness pulses outside, while in here, she nibbles on her fingernail and looks me up and down. The movie continues in spite of her non-attention, because she’d rather miss all the good bits and stare warily at me instead.
I was coming in here to set fresh wood on the fire, to fuel it enough to get us through the night so we don’t wake colder than her heart, but now she glares at me like I’ve already fucked her over.
It’s suspicion and intolerance. It’s hatred, like she’s already decided I’m the monster my reputation swears I am.
She swallows, her throat moving with nerves, and since her hand is up by her mouth, front and center for me to pay attention to, she shows off a wrist and forearm covered in designs that weren’t there just a few hours ago.
I don’t speak.
She doesn’t look away.
I don’t move.
She blindly snatches up the television remote and pauses her movie.
“What are you doing?”
Fuck me. I’m not sure I’ve heard her voice yet today.
“Stoking the fire.” I ignore the alarm bells ringing in the back of my brain and go about my business, crossing the living room and lowering into a crouch in front of the fireplace.
Fuck her for making me feel like the piece of shit I’ve spent years pretending to be.
“Watch your movie, Princess. I’ll only be a minute, then I’ll leave you alone again. ”
She doesn’t. The screen remains paused, the room, silent. The warmth of her stare prickles the back of my neck, which is the same damn prickle I feel when a motherfucker has me in his scope.
I don’t think she has a gun.
Probably.
“I’d like you to stop calling me Princess.”
I cough out a soft laugh and break the remnants of the last log apart, opening it wide and creating a base of glowing coals, then I trade the metal poker for our next log, tossing it in and catching a tiny, runaway ember before it burns the floor.
“Sebastion?”
I hear her behind me, shuffling on the couch, setting her feet on the floor. I absorb every single breath she takes. Even the waft of her shampoo as her hair falls forward to curtain her face.
But I don’t turn around.
Doing so would be bad. For both of us.
“Sebastion?” She repeats my name on a frustrated huff. “I’m speaking to you.”
“I heard you, Princess.” If I could leave this room without looking her in the eyes, I would. If I could escape without facing her, I’d do it. I might be a soldier, but I’m not a machine, and my need to piss her off wars with how often my attempts make her cry.
The first is fun. The second… not so much.
I straighten my legs and set my hand on the mantel.
Staring down at the fire, I lick my lips and consider my hesitance preparation.
It might even be a kind of desensitization.
Exposure therapy, in a way. Because finally, when I can’t drag the moment out any longer, I turn on my feet and lock eyes with a shade of blue I see even in the dark.
I look her up and down and paste on my most irritating smirk.
“I heard you. I just don’t feel like discussing the things you can’t control. ”
Her cheeks glow a pretty pink. “Excuse me?”
“Well…” I fold my arms. “See, you can ask me to do something or, in this case, not do something. You can even ask nicely. But unless I’m inclined to follow your orders, you won’t actually get that thing you asked for.”
Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits.
“I don’t wanna stop calling you princess, because…” I shrug. “I don’t wanna. And since you can’t actually stop me, I figure I’d save us both the back and forth.”
A soft growl vibrates along her throat.
“You asked. I answered. End of conversation.”
The fire crackles behind me, toasting the backs of my legs as the new log catches alight and Scarlett’s jaw grinds. Her dimples tease. Her eyes blaze. And then… she drops her proud chin in a nod. “Fine. You’re right.”
Mild panic sets off explosions in the back of my head, but I press a hand to my heart anyway, and flash a wide grin. “It turns me on when women say those words.”
“But since we’re on the topic…” She snatches up the remote and unpauses her movie. “I assume it’s cool that I give you a cute little pet name, too? Boot, maybe.”
My brows sling high on my forehead. “Boot?”
“Mmm. Like, bootcamp.” Leaning forward, she snags a half-full cup of tea and settles back against the cushions. “Men like you pride yourselves on the epic examples of masculinity you’ve achieved, no?”
“Men like me?”
“Oh! Maybe I could call you Grunt.” She takes a smiling sip and goes back to watching her movie.
“I’ll think about it overnight and let you know tomorrow.
But seeing as how we’ve already had this conversation—ya know, like Person A asks Person B not to use a certain name, and Person B considers but, ultimately, does what they want anyway—I figure we could skip all the back and forth and get on with things.
” She lifts her feet back onto the couch and balances her teacup on her upturned knee.
“We can’t control others, right? Only ourselves. ”
“Sure. Knock yourself out, Princess.” I cross the living room and obnoxiously plant myself in the space between the coffee table and the television.
She attempts to look around me, to see her precious movie and whatever male lead she considers dreamy, but I’m just too fuckin’ big, and I wanna see her spiral a little bit.
“I like how our relationship has progressed from dueling strangers to a couple of really sexy adults who can admit sexual frustration.”
“You mentioned that. Not me.”
“And now we have cute pet names for each other. We’re basically going steady… Princess.”
She rage-chews her thumb nail. Grits her teeth. Works so hard not to let her temper fly.
“Let me know when you’re ready to climb into my bed. I’d hate to mistake you for an intruder and snap your neck before I realize your intentions.”
“Sounds dangerous,” she counters. So fucking snippy. So regal, and you can’t hurt me. My throne is way too high for the likes of you. “Probably best I just stay away altogether.”
“That would be a damn shame.” I shift when she shifts, and make damn sure I’m still blocking her view of the TV. “You’re gonna be devastated when you realize you’ve wasted eighteen nights already. We sleep just twenty feet apart, but you haven’t put my cock in your mouth even once.”
“Oh dear. So sad for you.” She flicks her graffitied hand. “Move, please.”
“Right! My bad.” I bounce out of the way like a good little soldier, but then I stride to the TV and lean around the wide screen. “Lemme just… I just need to…”
“What the hell are you doing?”
I rip the cord out of the wall and destroy her good time. “Be ready at oh-nine-hundred, Princess. We need groceries. I can’t leave you here alone, can’t send you there without your guard, and this shit ass town doesn’t deliver.”
“You jackass!” She wrenches around and watches me leave. “Fuck you!”
“Soon, Princess. Let me know when you’re game.”