6. Maeve
CHAPTER 6
MAEVE
He presses closer to me, hunching to seal the distance between us and force some honesty out of me with his proximity. The pressure is too much. My hand stings like a bitch, and all I want is some space. I’m disarmed by him caring for me, caught off guard and terrified. My nervous system throws off the most confusing series of reactions.
“I’m leaving,” I say without my voice cracking or sounding breathy. I’m mildly proud of myself, but I won’t look him in the eye. I can’t. The illusion will break. The adrenaline from being chased still fires through me, my injury making me even more defensive.
“Tell me.”
A strong hand rests beneath my chin, tipping it up and forcing my eyes to his. If he was too close before he established this connection, this is downright invasive. My insides warm, and I’m not sure which emotion is doing the weight of the work. My fear, my anger, or the mildly building arousal that his touch inspires. Diego has never had much respect for personal space, and as someone who’s rarely been touched, the casual, possessive way he does it is addictive.
“Don’t touch me,” I lie to both of us.
Experience tells me that challenging a man in a power position is the worst thing you can do, and it’s clear from the changes to this house and the way he carries himself that Diego has changed. I’ve spent enough time with dangerous men to recognize them, but my nervous system is too excited to make a sound judgment. Is Diego dangerous, or am I just projecting after my close call with Cygnus?
Our eyes meet because he wants me to so badly, but I keep my secrets guarded deep inside. He’s already gotten too close and in a position far too intimate for my safety. Panic surges through me. The innocent girl he once knew is gone, but what would he be willing to do to her?
Diego isn’t going to find weapons to be used against me carelessly sitting on my face. Though the taser and knife in my pockets burn as I realize how easily they could be turned on me, how easily this all could be turned on me. Should I use them first, get the hell out of here, and start driving? It will be quite a few days, maybe even weeks before I get somewhere safe.
His hand sits on my chin. He doesn’t budge.
“I’ll touch you whenever I like.”
There’s an assurance in that statement that backs up the worst of my fears. My patience has run out. This game of imposing stature and strong hands on my chin is done. I’m leaving, running until I can lie down and lick my wounds.
My left hand lifts to push his chest away from mine, the last chance I’m going to give before I tase him. Stabbing Diego after he helped me is a little excessive. I’m hoping he’ll move, but he only squeezes tighter and repeats his question in a lower voice.
“What are you doing here?”
The more I stare at him, the more the balance of power shifts in a direction I resent. He’ll touch me whenever he likes, and how the hell will I stop him?
My fingertips touch the taser, but I don’t pull it out and press the trigger. Maybe part of me does like his touch. It reminds me of when we were kids and how safe he used to make me feel, but that safety is an illusion. I won’t be safe for at least three thousand miles and perhaps not even then.
I need to get out of that door, not fall deeper into a staring contest with the first real glimpse of the boy I used to know. But hurting him feels wrong, and not just morally, but like it goes against my instincts to harm him. This is the same expression he wore when he used to argue with my father. It scares me and lights me up in all kinds of ways I don’t expressly understand.
He smiles at me like he sees straight through me, like touching me is a given. “Tell me why you came here tonight.”
I’m wasting my own goddamn time, and I’m the one who will have to pay for it. Flashes of memory play across his adult face. The way he would champion all of us to my father in a way no one else would dare. He was so brave and handsome, and I desperately admired him. That old feeling stirs strongly inside me now, endearing me to him in a way that’s dangerous to my health. I shouldn’t trust him because of some nostalgic impulse.
“You knocked on my door.” He echoes my thought, and I blink up at him, even more unnerved.
“Get out of my way.” This is his last chance.
When he doesn’t budge, I pull the taser out of my pocket, press the trigger, and aim for his side. The cracking zip of electricity gives him more warning than I expect, and much to my surprise, he jumps out of the way, avoiding the weapon at the last moment and smacking it out of my hand.
I shriek as the pain registers in my wound, and the taser goes skittering across the floor. My scream draws him up short for a millisecond, and I use that time to get the jump on him that I failed just a moment before. I drop low and spin to the right, catching him off guard and getting past him.
“What the fuck, Maeve? You didn’t just try that.”
His anger spikes fear through my system, and while I didn’t hurt him, I know my intention has already fully registered. The knife weighs a million pounds in my pocket as I race toward the door, and I pray to God I won’t need it. Would I use it on him if I had to? Do I have to? Could I?
I’m small, quick, and a skilled dancer, but I worry that won’t mean anything now. If I let my fear get the best of me when I made a move against him, what’s my excuse now? This adult version of Diego doesn’t look like he tolerates people attacking him.
My steps hit harder than normal as I run toward the door. My heart pounds, and my breaths come harshly. There is no reasonable thought of what he might do when he catches me, just the innate sense that I’m running for my life. My hand closes on the doorknob, and my desperation for safety and freedom builds in the back of my throat like a physical pain.
The cold night air kisses me as the door opens, but before I can pull it the rest of the way open, a tattooed arm loops around my waist and scoops me off the ground. I scream as open air and his warmth surround me. My entire frame shakes as his back hits the wall. We struggle, and I try to break free.
“Maeve, you seriously need to calm down. What the fuck is happening? Why did you try to tase me?”
His questions seem fair enough if he had no bad intentions, just pushy ones, but I’m still running. Diego and I haven’t seen each other in years. Coming here was a mistake, and my bones scream their regrets.
“Let me go. I need to leave.”
“You’re not going anywhere now.” He confirms my worst fears. “Not before I figure out if you’re actually fucking insane and need a trip to the hospital for something other than the stitches.”
My heart beats too fast at the idea of being taken to the hospital. It’s physically painful to consider how exposed I would be in that situation. How fast Cygnus’s men would learn my location and catch up to me. My thoughts don’t turn to the knife, but that doesn’t help me.
“What the fuck is this?” he grits as he feels the weight in my pocket. The hard edge hasn’t cut through the fabric, but the blade presses firm against my skin. If we were to twist the wrong way, it would slice my guts open or his arm. I would certainly lose if things turned out in his favor, and I still might lose even if they don’t.
“It’s a knife. Don’t kill me, please.”
He pauses in his struggle, squeezing insanely tight around my midsection as he juggles me like I weigh nothing. I briefly have the insane thought he wouldn’t complain I was too heavy to perform lifts with before his hand slips into my pocket and he flings the knife across the room.
“Is that what you cut yourself on?” he asks, but I don’t waste any time, going back to fighting like hell to get away from him. He’s got to be really pissed now. “Did you seriously cut yourself on that fucking knife trying to defend yourself?” I don’t appreciate the derision in his tone.
“No.” That much is true, and I’m not going to let him mock me for being stupid when I’m stupid for entirely different reasons than he thinks. He doesn’t let me go with the knife out of the way, so I keep struggling. The sense I’m being chased, that I’m in danger sinks through every part of me.
“Tell me why you came here tonight, and calm the fuck down. No one is going to hurt you.”
We slip to the ground, and he wrestles me. I kick and elbow, fighting like hell. I’m not sure what he wants or what he’s going to do to me, but I trust the instincts telling me to run. He wraps around me like a damn python and has my limbs secured within minutes.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Maeve,” he says again, but this time with his lips pressed to the back of my ear and his entire body against mine. It’s intimate, suggestive, too much.
“What are you doing?” I demand as that sense of panic rises to a crescendo.
“Can you please calm down?” he asks in my ear.
“What the fuck are you going to do to me?” I ask, chills covering me as the hard outline of his cock presses into my ass.
“Jesus Christ, Maeve,” he grits as I wiggle again. “Give you a place to sleep, you fucking nutjob.” He shakes me with his whole body like I’m seriously pissing him off, but that only digs his cock in more. “Keep you safe, get you some fucking stitches, and feed you, but I’m seriously starting to regret wanting to help you.”
This brings me up short. I swallow thickly because I’m embarrassed, definitely overreacting, and this is not the time to become hyperaware of how close we are.
“I’ll calm down,” I agree. “Let me go.”
He sighs. “You promise not to run?”
It takes me a beat, but I nod. “Yes.”
“Swear on my mother.”
A little sound leaves the back of my throat, and if I weren’t already unsure of my judgment, I would think my pain satisfied him.
“I swear on Miss Angie that I won’t run.” For now, I mentally finish.
He relaxes his hold and gets back on his feet before I can fully straighten my legs. Every inch of me aches—the day’s stress, multiple car chases, and now this leaves me beyond drained. While I sit on the floor heaving, he moves to the door, pressing a series of buttons on his fancy lock and security system.
Shit.
“Now you’re not lying,” he assures me, and a sense of fear slithers through me. Why does he want that door locked?
Normally, a locked door wouldn’t mean too much for me. I’m a high-end car thief, but this system is well outside my skills. That doesn’t mean I won’t make a real effort to get the hell out of here anyway.
Diego rolls his shoulders, and his eyes fall closed now that he feels confident I’m trapped, and I cross my arms over my chest. He looks distressed, and I’m glad. I’m distressed too. If he’s going to trap me here, it might as well be a bother to him. I let my eyes wander his body, and my cheeks warm as I visually appreciate the tent I caused under his sweats. He looks like he tastes good, but I can’t trust him for anything.
“You owe me a goddamn explanation. Right now.”
There isn’t a hint of waver or room for negotiation. He stands over me like I’m an errant child, and he’s the frustrated adult, and I do at least have the sense of self to be embarrassed for the scene I’ve caused.
“I came to ask if I could spend the night. I realize now that was a mistake, but it was nice to see you anyway.”
I’m aiming to lighten the situation, but it doesn’t seem to land. The air hangs heavy between us.
“Okay. So you’re injured, carrying multiple weapons, and you came to ask my mother to get involved in whatever you’re doing.”
I hear the offense, and it makes sense. I don’t blame him for it, and I can’t even begin to defend myself. He’s right. I intended to bring danger to his mother’s door.
“I need a bed for tonight.” I didn’t plan to tell Miss Angie anything else either. He already knows far too much. “Just let me go, and I’ll look for it somewhere else.”
He stares at me with an unfamiliar hardness, but he stows it quickly.
“I didn’t know you guys kept in contact.” His accusation stings. After all this time, I was going to come here for a favor and put her in danger.
“We didn’t.” I keep the wobble out of my voice. There isn’t a chance I could lie to him about that. He was always incredibly close to his mom, and I’m sure she would have told him if we talked.
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I’m not sure what he means exactly, but his obvious disappointment hurts me in the strangest way.
“What is that supposed to mean?” But he’s silent as he stares at the wall, lost in thought.
I’m not the terrible person he thinks I am, and a part of me wants to explain myself. There were so many times over the years when I missed her. When I wanted to call her. Like when I was cast in my first paid production, telling her was my first thought, but it wasn’t about me. Bothering her never felt right.
Dad was a horrible husband to her. Surviving by escaping everything that reminded her of him seemed fair. I loved her, and I know she loved me at a time, but I never blamed her for being done with me either.
My defeated sigh speaks to my exhaustion.
“Why can’t you sleep at home?” he asks, and the gentleness in his tone stuns me after everything.
I open my mouth and close it. “I can.” The obvious lie tastes pathetic.
“You wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t your last resort. It’s been eight years.”
My eyes narrow. I don’t like to be read so easily. As a practiced liar, it’s an insult to my craft.
“I was just being selfish.” His eyes flicker like he’s inclined to believe that explanation but then thinks better of it.
“What are you hiding, Maeve?”