Page 9 of From the Ashes
You’re not good enough for a woman like her. You’re a murderer, a psychopath, fooling yourself into thinking you can have a normal life.
“Carter?” a little voice says from below. I look down and see her brown-golden hair swaying on her shoulders, her hazelnut eyes staring at me nervously while I take in her long, floral blue dress.
“Lana,” I reply, hating my tone for being so cold. “You are really pretty,” I deadpan, because she’s so beautiful that I want to kneel and bite her flesh just to taste her sweetness. A light shade of pink paints her cheeks. Is she too hot again? It’s only morning, and with this breeze, I’m this close to giving her my jacket.
“How long have you been waiting? I hope it wasn’t too long. Parking was tricky.”
Twenty-five years. I have waited twenty-five years for you, Lana.
“Came early,” I declare, then step to the door of the diner and open it for her to enter. I don’t miss her honey gaze checking me out when I outstretch my arm. The moment she passes in frontof me to enter, her shoulder brushes my chest, and I swear her scent has become my favorite smell. She chooses a seat in the middle of the room, one near the window. Fidgeting, she pulls a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.
Is she nervous?
I am used to recognizing nervousness; hell, that’s mostly what I ignited in my enemies when they were in the basement back in the day. Women, too, especially the chicks from the club, even the bravest ones, always had a spark of uncertainty when they were alone with me. They shouldn’t. I would rather die in acid than hurt a woman. But as I study her features, I can’t really understand why a woman like her would be nervous in front of me. I sit and remove my cut on the back of the chair while her eyes widen slightly at my arms.
“Do you know what you want?” I ask, cocking my head to the side. She bites her lower lip, then shakes her head.
“I’ll take a strawberry milkshake. It’s my favorite.” I nod just before the waitress arrives at our table with a pot of coffee in her hand.
“Hi, lovebirds, what can I get ya?” the blonde old lady with a wide smile says. Red apron, clean hands, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes from years of smiling at customers, blue eyes with a spark, and small dark circles displaying her fatigue. A good, nice, hard-working person.Shit, was I staring?It always takes me a few seconds to analyze folks.
“We’ll have two strawberry milkshakes and some pancakes,” I say blankly, staring at the light reflecting in her hair. The old lady nods and steps back behind the counter.
“Hungry?” Lana inquires, scratching her forearm nervously.
“Ravenous,” I state, looking straight into her brown eyes.
“I’m…I’m nervous. I haven’t been on a date in a long time,” she admits in a low chuckle, as if there’s any embarrassment to have about such a thing.
“Why? Men must be asking you out wherever you go.” As much as it pains me to admit, I know Lana is one hell of a gem, the kind of woman you’d stop walking in the street for. She has this aura about her, almost fairy-like.
“I… I’m freshly divorced and…I’m a single mom. I’d rather tell you now because I don’t want to waste my time with someone who can’t handle it,” she declares, her chin up and pupils dilated like a tigress defending her ground. My nostrils flare at her attitude. Damn, there’s a strength emanating from her that’s both intoxicating and demanding of respect. I have no idea if I’ll ever see her again after today, and even if I never get a shot at a normal relationship with a woman like her, I still want to enjoy her company for as long as she’s accepting it.
You’re out of your depth here. Playing the good normal guy when you’re just a psycho in disguise.
“I can handle it,” I reply without flinching, my blue eyes piercing hers.
A family man? You’re joking, right? Look at you and your rotten genes. You’ll never be a father or a husband.
I can’t be a father. I mean, I could technically be one, but I’ll do anything to make sure my genes never create another son from the Cavanaugh line. My father is a psychopath; I probably am one, and there’s no way I’m bringing another one into this life. I may have partially saved myself thanks to the club, but I know I’m fucked up in the head in an irreversible way. So in a way, I’m glad she already has a kid. That’s something she won’t have to miss if I can’t provide it for her.
Stop dreaming. She’s giving you some pity dates to thank you for saving her, then you’ll go back to your underworld and stay there alone.
“How old are you? I’m sorry to be direct, but…you seem young…” Her voice falters before she swallows hard. I’m onlytwenty-five, but I have lived many lives in my short time on Earth.
“Twenty-five,” I reply. “Is that an issue?” Tilting my head to the side, I study her breathtaking face, noticing dimples appearing each time she smiles.
So fucking sweet.
“Oh… Um, I’m thirty,” she murmurs, lowering her eyes to her hands on her lap.
“Okay?” I scan her face, searching for any sign of emotion. Is this the kind of small talk normal people have? Talking about their age? I’m not against it, but I don’t see the point.
She chuckles. “Never mind.”
I let it slide because I have no clue where she’s trying to go with this, but since I’m way out of my comfort zone, it’s better to let her take the lead.
“So, um, you said you were a bodyguard. Have you always wanted to do that?” she asks as she bites her lip. Why is she doing this? It’s distracting and making me want to bite her just to see how her skin would mark with my teeth.
