48. Bindi
FORTY-EIGHT
BINDI
Once inside the cabin, I immediately shed my jacket and kick off my boots. I throw the bag from the store on the couch except the box of tampons.
Cassidy looks up from the stove, spatula in hand. The smell of frying bacon and eggs wafts past my nose and I am instantly nauseous. One glance at me is all it takes for him to turn off the burner.
“Bindi? What’s the matter?” he says, stepping toward me.
Instinctively, I step back. I can’t open my mouth and answer him because I’m not entirely sure I won’t scream or cry or both. I need a minute.
Cassidy reaches a hand out to me to comfort me. “Hey, talk to me. Are you hurt?” His fingers lightly brush my forearm as his eyes scan the window behind me looking for something amiss.
I flinch and pull away from him. “I’m fine,” I mutter. But nothing is fine. My mind is reeling, replaying those fucking words in my head. Cassidy doesn’t kill because he has to, he kills because he likes it .
“Come on, let’s eat breakfast. Then we can go back to bed if you aren’t feeling?—”
“I’m not hungry,” I cut him off, brushing past him toward the hallway. I need to get away from him and gather myself, think of some way to talk to him about this that won’t end in him exploding.
He turns on his heel and trails me into the bedroom. “Bindi, talk to me. You’re scaring me. Did something happen in town? Was it that creepy cashier again? I’ll?—”
I spin around at the bathroom doorway. “It wasn’t the fucking cashier, Cassidy!” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. “It was an FBI agent.”
He stops, his eyebrows shooting up. “What?”
“Yeah. F-B-fucking-I. He cornered me.” I watch as concern in Cass’ face turns to alarm. Then, just as quickly, it smoothes into a mask of calm.
I’m not buying it.
“Baby, are you sure?”
“He knew my name. He knew your name. Deadman’s, the Santoros—he knew all of it, Cass. Everything.”
He takes a slow breath. “These feds . . . They like to scare people. They probably fed you a load of bullshit to turn you against me.”
My stomach turns. He’s dodging, downplaying.
I press on, stepping toward him. “He told me we’re in danger—that I’m in danger just for being with you.
” My voice wavers despite trying to keep it steady.
“He said if I don’t cooperate, I could be charged as an accomplice.
Cassidy . . . what the hell did you do?”
Cassidy’s nostrils flare as he rakes a hand through his dark hair. “They’re bluffing,” he says firmly. “If they had something, they would’ve shown up here with a warrant. Did you see a warrant? No. They’re fishing, trying to freak you out so you’ll spill something that isn’t there.”
How can he be so fucking casual? My hands ball into fists. “Is what he said true? What are you hiding from me? You need to fucking tell me the truth.”
He recoils. “I cannot fucking believe this,” he growls, voice rising. His calm facade fades into anger. “You’re seriously standing here, accusing me—based on what? The words of some asshole agent who abused you in a parking lot?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything! I’m begging you to just be honest with me, for once!”
His eyes widen, wounded fury twisting his features. “For once!? You think I haven’t been honest?” He gestures at himself, chest heaving. “Everything I’ve told you is everything I have, Binx. I never lied to you about who I am—about what I’ve done.”
“So why haven’t you told me anything about Deadman’s?”
His eyes are almost all black as he looms over me in the narrow doorway. I tilt my chin up to hold his gaze, my heart rattling in my chest.
“Because you don’t want the details.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Cassidy Reyes!” I shove him, using all of my might and I just barely get him to stumble back into the bedroom. “I want to know who I’m in love with. Or am I just some na?ve girl to you? Is that it? Am I not worthy enough to know your struggles?”
He storms toward me, causing me to back myself up against the paneled wall of the cabin. He slams his palm against the wall beside my head. I jump at the crack of the wood. A framed photo falls off the hook. “My demons are mine to carry. I never wanted them bleeding into you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ve done this your entire life. You are a ticking time bomb. You want to be stoic, composed, but you aren’t. You always implode in on yourself and I’ve always had to pick up the pieces.”
He’s within inches of my face now, fury radiating off him in waves.
He’s never been physically rough with me, but the way he has me caged in now has adrenaline spiking in my veins.
“I . . . I love you, Bindi. You are my soul reason for existence on this god-forsaken planet. I would have put a bullet in my head a long time ago if it weren’t for your goddamn smile.
The club . . . that was another life, one that I had to endure to get back to you.
And I did make it back to you. I don’t want that ugliness to touch you.
I need to protect you. If that’s a crime, then yeah, I’m guilty. ”
“Protect me? We have an FBI agent who knows where we are. At any moment, he could show up with the entire SWAT team and take you to prison and throw me in there, too. Since when have we kept secrets from each other.”
“Since you climbed out of that window.” His eyes search mine but mine immediately fall away from his gaze.
“That’s not fair . . . and you know it. You told me to run.”
He exhales, knowing what he said was a low blow, and he finally gives me the space I so desperately need, allowing me to feel like I can breathe again.
“What was I supposed to say, Binx? Hey, it’s me. A motorcycle club used me as their personal fucking hitmen to make up for the fact they got me out of life in prison. Once I saw you I knew I was never going back to them, so why bother bringing old shit back up.”
“But you killed people . . . innocent people.”
His face crumpled. “I was a different person; I wasn’t myself. I didn’t have you.” He tries to look hopeful with that last word but I shake my head, causing him to curl into himself even more. “If I hadn’t done it, I’d be dead, or worse.”
I search his face, now seeing the guilt and anguish that is lashed across it. But I can’t tell if it’s from me finding out or the actual things he had done to people. Tears burn in my eyes. “I have a right to know, Cass. We’ve never kept secrets.”
His expression shatters, anguish now spilling into anger again.
“Why? So you could look at me like you are right now? Like I’m some fucking monster.
I didn’t want this—I don’t want you looking at me like I’m broken.
” He strikes the wall again and the plaster cracks.
I flinch slightly, a cry escaping before I can stifle it.
Instantly, regret flashes in his eyes. He pulls his fist back, flexing his hand with a grimace. “Shit. I’m sorry.” The fury in his posture slumps into remorse. “I would never . . . I’m sorry.”
He put a hole in the wall instead of hitting me.
That tiny detail shouldn’t comfort me, but as twisted as it is, it did.
My chest aches with conflicting emotions.
“Cass . . .” I whisper, brushing a tear from my cheek.
“You went through hell, I get that. But what about me? I’ve been drowning next to you while you held the lifeline.
And now I’m just finding out you tied it around my neck.
How can you say you love me and keep me blind to something that could destroy us? ”
“Destroy us? The only thing trying to destroy us is them!” He jabs a finger toward the door as if the FBI were already pounding on it. “They can’t stand that I’m trying to better my life, so they’re coming after me.”
“Cass! Are you so fucking blind to see that you murdered people? You go to jail for that!”
He scoffs. “You’re not a little miss perfect. I saw the collection of stolen wallets and credit cards in your apartment. Just because you didn’t get your hands bloody doesn’t make you any more worthy of staying outside of a concrete room.”
I swallow hard. “How many? After Randall . . . how many people did you kill?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I won’t let them take me away. I won’t let them take you away, either.” He rakes both hands through his hair in agitation.
His evasiveness only fans the embers of my own frustration. “It does matter.”
He reaches for me, gently grasping my shoulders, and I let him. His thumbs stroke my shoulders, his eyes glossy. “I need you, Firefly. Please . . . don’t let this ruin us. We can get through this—there’s a way out. ”
My heart twists. I love him. God help me, I love this man.
This broken, infuriating man. But love isn’t supposed to feel like standing on a ledge.
Before I can respond, Cass’s gaze drifts down, catching on something behind me.
His eyes narrow in confusion, then realization. I turn to follow his line of sight.
On the floor by the open bathroom door is the box of tampons that I had completely forgotten about in this argument.
Cass’s hands fall from my shoulders and he steps back. “You’re bleeding.”
It’s not really a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“I thought . . . you could have been . . .” His face twists. “I thought . . . you could’ve been . . .”
“I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
His bitter laugh slices the room in half. “Sorry . . . Of fucking course. The world won’t let us have one good fucking thing, will it?”
“Cass—”
“We lose our baby before it even fucking starts because of them. Because you can’t just trust me and ignore their lies!” His voice breaks as his fist crashes through the door frame, wood cracking and splintering. “We could’ve had everything! Why?!”
“STOP!” I cry out, a sob breaking loose. “Cassidy, it’s natural! It takes time, it’s—baby, please!”
He lunges forward, backing me toward the bed. My knees buckle when I hit it, tumbling onto the mattress. Cassidy leans over me, caging me in with shaking arms, his face inches from mine.
“You listen to me,” he growls, voice low and dark. “All I’ve ever wanted is you—you and a baby with your eyes. A family. I don’t care what I have to do. You’re mine, Bindi. We’re us. I’m not letting you go. I’m not leaving you.”
“Cass—” I gasp, chest heaving.
Cassidy’s lips crush against mine and a startled moan catches in my throat.
My hands fly up to his chest to push him away but instead get tangled in his shirt, pulling him toward me.
I don’t know if I’m pulling him closer to feel safe or to hurt him back.
I don’t even know what’s real anymore. His tongue presses past my lips, tasting of salt from tears and sweat.
Then he breaks away, only allowing me a few gasps before he’s on me again, his knee pushing between my thighs, nudging them apart as he presses me back on the bed.
We’re still fighting; despite us devouring each other’s faces.
I’m still furious and scared, but my body .
. . my body knows him—reacts to him. Loves him.
It knows how right it is that we are in such sync with one another.