Chapter 26
I lift my head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s three in the morning, and I’m having trouble falling asleep. No matter how comfortable his bed is and how pleasant his warm skin feels pressed against mine. The all-too-familiar sharp pain throbbing in my lower abdomen makes it next to impossible. I try to ignore it, hoping it will go away. But it won”t. Pulling my legs closer to my stomach, I curl up into a fetal position. Noah is fast asleep right next to me, his arms wrapped around my waist, cradling me against his broad chest. His warm breath tickles the skin of my shoulder. With another sharp pain that feels like a stab, I whine and press my hand to my abdomen.
”Noah, wake up,” I say in a whisper, elbowing his stomach gently to wake him, but he doesn”t stir. Turning my head, I look back at him sleeping behind me. One thing I noticed in the first few nights with him is that he is a heavy sleeper and not very sensitive to sounds. In an awkward attempt to free myself, I wiggle in his arms, but it only causes his hold on me to tighten.
”Let me go, please,” I plead and elbow him much harder this time.
”No.” His voice rattles from sleep, the vibration from his chest rippling through me in waves.
”I need to pee.” I struggle against his hold.
”Just do it here. I don”t like you leaving the bed,” He complains.
”You”re disgusting. Let me go,” I say, raising my voice, and he finally lets go of me, rolls onto his back, and lets me climb out of bed.
In the bathroom, it doesn”t take long for the reality of the situation to hit me like a ton of bricks when I see the blood stains on the toilet paper.
Fuck.
I try to be as quiet as possible and dig through the cabinets in the bathroom, searching for tampons, pads, or anything useful, but I”m out of luck. My stomach sinks at the thought of having to face him in this vulnerable state. But, I also don”t want to be bleeding all over the place.
I take a deep breath and head back to the bedroom, where I find he has turned on the light on his nightstand and is leaning against the headboard, taking a sip of water.
”Please tell me that with all the stuff you got for me, you also bought period products.” He looks at me with furrowed brows, and it seems to take his sleepy brain a moment to figure out what I mean.
”You mean like tampons and so on?”
”Yes,” I answer, fisting the fabric of my nightgown with my sweaty palms.
”No, I didn”t think of that. Don”t you have some of those things in your purse for emergencies? I’ll buy you whatever you need tomorrow.”
”I don”t have any. I gave it to one of my friends at the cabin.”
He remains silent as he looks me up and down. Unable to read the blank look on his face, an uneasy feeling rises in my stomach, a mixture of anxiety and embarrassment. I fidget with the hem of my gown, waiting for his answer. My head jerks up, and my eyes widen as he kicks the blanket off himself and gets out of bed, handing me his phone from the nightstand.
”Save me some pictures of the brands you use, and I’ll run to the store and get you everything you need,” he says with a sigh, not sounding one bit annoyed, just really sleepy. He disappears into the walk-in closet, and I look down at his phone in my hand. The web browser is already open; I quickly search for what I need and save the pictures to his gallery.
”Want me to come with you?” I ask when he comes back wearing a matching set of black sweats.
”No, you stay here. Make yourself comfortable in bed, on the toilet, or wherever you prefer in this situation. I”ll try to be quick.” He takes his phone back from me.
”Are you really going to leave me alone in your house? Aren”t you worried that I”ll try to run away?”
”No, it”s the middle of the night, and you have no idea where we are exactly. If you go to my neighbors, they”ll think you”re crazy and might shoot you for trespassing. And if you decided to run, you wouldn”t get far in your condition,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head. ”I”ll be right back.” With that, he leaves the bedroom, and a minute later, the sound of his car engine breaks the silence of the night.
I grab a towel from the bathroom and climb back into bed, pulling my legs up to my chest and burying my face in my knees. No one has ever done this for me, gone out of their way to make sure I have everything I need in this situation. Not even my parents. A flood of memories from my teenage years flashes before my eyes. The numerous times I had to go without anything because my parents didn”t want to waste money on me; drugs were always more important.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes while my hormones play games with my emotions. How is it that someone like him, the man responsible for what should be a nightmare, who is supposed to hate and kill me, is able to treat me with such dignity? It”s bizarre to feel cared for by someone who should be my enemy.
Half an hour later, I hear the sound of the car engine again, and Noah walks back into the bedroom right after with a cigarette in his mouth, carrying a bag from one of the few twenty-four-hour stores.
”I think I found everything.” He holds the bag out to me.
”Thanks.” I jump out of bed and snatch it from his hand. Standing in front of him, the gray smoke of the burning cigarette between his lips wraps around me. ”Can you maybe not smoke in the bedroom? It makes me feel nauseous.”
He looks back and forth between me and the cigarette. ”Sure,” he says, takes the cigarette from his lips, walks over to his bedside table, where he has an ashtray, and stubs out the remains.
I smile at him before rushing to the bathroom, slamming the door, and locking myself in. Looking through the items, I notice he bought more than enough: three packs of each, plus ibuprofen and gel heat patches. I freshen up, apply one of the heat patches to my skin, and take one of the pills.
Feeling clean and fresh, I walk back into the bedroom and freeze at the sight of Noah back in bed, his clothes off, with a pink plush bunny sitting next to him on my side while he pulls a matching fluffy blanket out of its packaging. There are also chocolates and other small snacks on my bedside table.
My mouth falls open in shock. ”What is all this stuff?” I ask, my eyes wide.
His head jerks in my direction, and he blinks a few times, looking back and forth between me and the pink items, a stark contrast to the black sheets.
”They’re for you. I read some more about what else I can do, and it said snacks, and a cozy environment. But I don”t have anything to make my bed more cozy, so when I saw these items on the way to the register, I thought it looked cute and got it.” The confusion on my face must be doing something, because Noah raises his eyebrows and looks at the items, then back at me, at the items, at me. ”Is it too childish? It”s over the top; I can see you don”t like it.” He pauses. ”I”ll bring it back tomorrow.”
”No,” I say, almost shouting the word. In three big steps, I”m at his side of the bed and climb in beside him, ripping the blanket from his hands and hugging it to my chest. Burying my face in the soft fabric, the subtle scent of lavender fills my nostrils; it is a scented blanket. My nose betrays me as soft sobs, muffled by the blanket on my face, fill the somewhat quiet room.
”Are you crying?” he asks, putting an arm around my shoulders, coaxing me closer to his side. I nod my head and lean into his embrace, letting him guide me to lie back down with him. The fluffy blanket getting squeezed between us, his arms wrapped around me. ”Why?”
”Just my hormones, nothing more,” I say between quiet sobs, keeping my face hidden. His actions are an odd mix of concern and cruelty, and I can”t make sense of him–as if this whole ordeal wasn’t embarrassing enough. I won”t admit to him that I”m crying because of his kindness, a kindness that is new to me and that I would never have expected from a man like him. He is a paradox.
”Excuse me, Mr. Hol—” An elderly woman”s soft voice startles me awake, cutting off mid-sentence as a somewhat cheerful shriek follows. Noah, who has his arms wrapped around me from behind, his face buried into the nape of my neck, jerks back and springs to a sitting position. His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions.
”Good morning, Mrs. Collins,” he says. His voice is still raspy, and he clears his throat, his chest rattling. I push myself up beside him, clutching the pink blanket to my chest. My eyes land on the source of the voice: a sweet old lady standing in the doorway, wearing a flowery apron to protect her clothes.
”I didn”t know we were going to have a guest this morning. A little warning would have been helpful,” she says, her voice soft and filled with enthusiasm. She doesn”t fit in with the overall picture of his house. Her bright, colorful appearance is a stark contrast to the muted tones of the place. Her bright smile and cheerful demeanor add a strange touch of warmth to the otherwise cold atmosphere.
I look at Noah, who is rubbing his eyes, obviously trying to come to terms with the current situation. ”I”m Susan Collins, Mr. Holman”s cook and housekeeper. It”s a pleasure to meet you.” She introduces herself with a big smile.
”The pleasure is all mine. My name is Evelyn Black,” I say.
”What a beautiful name.” Her smile grows wider. She then turns her attention back to Noah. ”Mr. Holman, what are we going to do for breakfast today?”
”A little bit of everything, please.”
”Of course,” she answers, and her attention shifts back to me. ”Is there anything in particular that you like or dislike, darling?”
”I like a sweet breakfast.”
”How about pancakes? I have all the ingredients to make you some.”
”That sounds lovely, thank you.” I offer her a gentle smile.
”Very well, I will get right to cooking, you two take all the time you need.” She winks at us, then turns and shuts the door behind herself. Heat crawls up my neck at what she”s implying.
”Now you have met my housekeeper.” Noah says, falling back into the sheets and scratching his head.
”She is lovely.”
”Yeah and nosy.”
I turn to look at him, lying comfortably in the pillows, combing his fingers through his tangled hair, his head tilted, looking at me with a lazy smile on his lips. He looks so peaceful and innocent lying there, his features soft from sleep. Each morning when I see him just like this, It”s almost surreal, how normal he appears, as if he didn”t have a dangerous bone in his body.
”How do you feel?” he asks.
”Good, the painkillers are working.”
He nods and pushes himself back into a sitting position.
”Thank you again for last night. You didn”t have to do all that.”
He shrugs. ”Of course I did. You needed it, and I had to make sure you were comfortable.”
A familiar warmth spreads across my cheeks and my heart leaps in my chest. ”Are you okay, though? We didn”t get much sleep.”
”I”ll survive, I’m not a stranger to sleepless nights,” he says with a chuckle, bringing a hand to my face and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. ”Let”s get up, I”m sure Mrs. Collins is dying to meet you properly.”
Just as expected, Mrs. Collins is a really sweet older lady, but I now understand what Noah meant when he said nosy. After spending the whole day with me, he excused himself about an hour ago to go to his office because he had to make a couple of calls, leaving me alone with Mrs. Collins. I helped her with the laundry and cleaning the living room before going to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Noah had warned me that she would be asking about our relationship, and he was right.
”Honey, how exactly did you and Mr. Holman meet?” Mrs. Collins asks, and I look up from the small ball of ground beef in my hand. I”ve been helping her cook dinner: pasta with meatballs.
”We met at a wedding a few weeks ago, and it instantly clicked between us,” I answer with a soft, fake smile on my lips. Noah told me to stick to the same lie he had told my friends, because Mrs. Collins has absolutely no idea who she is really working for. He told me she thinks he is the CEO of some sort of company, and he simply stuck with it, not bothering to correct her.
”Oh, so you”re the young lady he couldn”t get out of his head. I”m so glad it worked out in the end. He seemed really upset for a while,” she says, keeping her focus on the cutting board in front of her, chopping some fresh parsley.
”Why was he upset?”
”He said it was complicated, but never really went into detail,” she says and looks up at me.
”Ah, yes, it was indeed a complicated situation. It was all new to me. I haven”t dated anyone for a while, and I was hesitant.” I lie, partly. It”s true that I haven”t dated in a while, but that”s certainly not the reason why things are complicated between us.
”Oh, then it seems that the two of you have that in common.”
”Do we?” I raise my eyebrows.
”Yes. I”ve been working for Mr. Holman for about seven years now, and he never had a girlfriend and was never interested in someone. For a while, I even thought he was gay and didn’t want to come out to me. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the lingerie you forgot the morning after the wedding.”
”My what?” My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. He really took my underwear that I left at the hotel and kept it?
”Yes, it”s yours, isn”t it?” She asks nervously.
”Yeah, I”m just surprised he kept it,” I smile at her, but a cold shiver runs down my spine. I don”t even want to imagine what the pervert has done with it.
”I thought he would have given it back to you by now. But maybe he forgot.”
”Possibly. I’ll ask him later,” I say and finish rolling the last meatball before carrying the plate to the stove where Mrs. Collins has started to heat a frying pan. She takes the plate from me and starts putting the meatballs into the piping hot oil.
”I have one more question, and I know it’s not polite to ask, but how old are you?” Mrs. Collins looks up from the pan in front of her.
”I”m twenty-six.”
”Ah, I thought you were even younger.”
”No, I”m not,” I say with a chuckle.
”And the age difference isn’t an issue for you?”
”No, I mean, what? Eight years? It’s not that much of a difference.” It’s true, and frankly, I haven”t thought about our age difference at all. With everything wrong in our little situation, age is by far the least of my concerns.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Mrs. Collins smiles. I watch her mix the creamy sauce with the meatballs. ”This is actually Mr. Holman”s favorite dish.” My eyes land on the pan with the sauce, and the pasta is bubbling in a pot. It is a very simple dish. To be honest, I was expecting something fancier to be his favorite. But when I think back to the last few days, when we ordered takeout, he always chose something simple and would even eat the same thing two nights in a row.
”Is he a picky eater?”
”No, I wouldn”t call him a picky eater, but he is very set on what he likes and food-wise he is not very experimental,” she says with a chuckle. ”Can you please go get him? It will be ready in a few minutes.”
”Of course,” I say with a smile and head upstairs to his office. His voice comes muffled from inside the room and I stop in front of the door. He’s still on the phone.
With a gentle knock, I let him know that I”m there. Without waiting for a response, I slowly push the door open and step inside. He’s sitting at his desk with his phone pressed to his ear. He waves me inside, but then flips me his palm in a gesture to wait.
”So, he didn”t pay the full price because I went against his original plan?” he asks the person on the phone, his voice the only sound in the room.
Trying to ignore the conversation, I walk over to one of the shelves against the wall and trace the spines of the many books while I read the titles. He seems quite upset, his voice thick with anger, and his fingers drum on the surface of his desk.
”I can”t believe he”s being difficult about this. I got him all the information he wanted from the target’s computer in the end, which means he got what he paid for.”
I steal a glance at him and find his eyes are fixed on me. He is talking to someone about a job, but I thought he worked alone? Maybe he has a contact I don”t know about. My curiosity is piqued, and I really would like to know what the person on the other end is saying.
”Keep your cut, Kyle.”
I perk up at the familiar name, which I have seen pop up on his phone a number of times before because this person actually texts him a lot.
”I”m gonna get my money. If he wants to do it the ugly way, he can have it.” After a few more minutes of small talk, he ends the call and sets the phone down on the table. ”Come here, Dove,” he says, pushing his chair back from the table, reaching for me.
I walk over to him and take his invitation, settle into his lap, and wrap my arms around his shoulders. ”Who were you talking to?”
”Just a friend of mine.” He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder.
”Just a friend or another killer?”
”A friend who also happens to be a hitman.”
”I thought you weren”t socializing with others?”
”He is an exception, just like you.” He tilts his head to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. My heart skips a beat, and heat creeps up my neck and spreads across my face.
”An exception like me? What is special about him then?”
”Nothing really, but we”ve been friends since high school.”
”You and your friend from school ended up as killers?” I furrow my eyebrows.
”Yes, both of us were introduced to the world of violence by the same people.”
”At what age?” I ask, trying to take advantage of the rare moment when he actually opens up to me.
”At about sixteen.”
”That”s early.”
”People who are born into this life start even earlier than me. When did you get your first job?”
”When I was eighteen.”
”That”s literally only a two-year difference,” he says with a chuckle. ”What was your first kill?”
”A regular of the bar where I used to work.”
”Why did you take the job?”
”I needed money, and the man was evil,” I say, looking at him, his bright green eyes studying me. ”Why did you start killing?”
”For the same reason; the person was evil, and I needed easy money.”
”Who—”
”I”m not going to answer any questions about who.” He cuts me off and leans back in his chair.
”That”s not fair. I told you who it was and why.” A pang of disappointment swelling in my chest. I want to know more about him and his reasons, hoping to understand him at least a little bit better.
”Yes, you did, but I”m not going to share it with you because it”s none of your business. End of discussion,” he says, his tone becoming increasingly irritated and angry. ”What was the reason you came to my office in the first place?”
I sigh with defeat. ”Dinner is ready.”