Page 38 of Together We Burn
I inhaled a sharp breath, hating how much the bergamot and blackcurrants of his aftershave made my mouth water.
“I need to speak to you.”
“And you thought you would break in to do that?”
“I thought this was how we did things now; since you broke into my apartment last time you had something to say.” A crooked grin played on his lips as his eyes darted over my shoulder to my open bedroom window, the early evening sun spilling through. “Got to say, I’m slightly disappointed by how easy it was to climb through your window.”
His playfulness was new, something that seemed to be unlocked during our fighting in the strip club, and I hated that I liked it. Snapping my eyes to my open window, I registered what he’d said. He broke in.
Fucking Alex.I’d told him we should put a security system in our house, but oh no,hedidn’t think it was necessary with a trained killer living here and the fact we lived in the middle of nowhere.
“No one would be stupid enough to break into our house, Stevie. Don’t be silly.”The nerve of that man. Berating me about personal safety when he first learnt of Jake months ago, and now the very man he was so worried about was standing in my room. Typical. When I suggested it, I was being paranoid, but if he suggested it, it was just good sense.
“Besides,” Jake said, twisting a strand of my wet hair around his finger. “I didn’t think you would let me in if I came to the front door, since you haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. What if something terrible had happened?”
I huffed a laugh, pushing my back against the dresser to close the drawer and allow me the space to angle out from Jake’s orbit. I bent down, collecting my robe from the floor and draped it over the back of the chair at my desk.
“I’m sure I’d survive,” I deadpanned, turning and crossing my arms under my tits, which pushed them up slightly. “What are you doing here, Jake?”
His eyes dropped to my cleavage, amusement tugging at his lips as he understood the innuendo of the emojis on the pyjama top.
I levelled him with a stare. This man was frustrating with his whole avoiding my questions thing, and especially when he stood and proceeded to mimic my stance, crossing his arms over his chest and making his shirt strain against his biceps.
My eyes roamed across his arms because, of course, they’d ignore my demand to remain impassive. Then my fingers joined in with my inner torment, fantasising about scraping my nails down those arms and tracing the ink that covered his flesh as he slowly peeled my pyjama top up and over my head, taking my breasts in his large hands and…
Keep it together, Stevie.
His head then nodded over my shoulder toward the bottle of Michter’s. “I see you got my gift.”
His gaze turned to the “dart-board” on my wall, and he made a sound low in his throat; it was almost like a snort. Crossing the room, he touched the many,manypuncture marks I’d made during my nightly game of “Impale the Assholes.”
“Creative,” he commented, flicking the edge of the paper I’d drawn stick mom on with his finger before coming to stand in front of me again. “I’m glad you liked that gift just as much.”
“The knives were from you?” I asked, a little astounded.
The box appeared one morning following Alex helping me, feeling completely awkward as he screwed his eyes shut, as I got in the bath. The label was addressed to me, so naturally I thought one of the boys had sent them to me and was too lazy to wrap them. I’d never have guessed they were from Jake.
I resisted the urge to groan. To anyone else, those gifts; Bourbon and a box of shiny pointy blades would seem a little odd. But to me, they were everything.
My throat clogged with the stupid emotions I was not going to pay attention to as I said, “You wanted to talk, so talk.”
Grimacing, he went into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out an off-white envelope, keeping it in his hold for several beats until reluctantly handing it over.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking down to see my name in black chicken scratch I instantly recognised.
Confirming what I already knew, Jake said, “It’s from your dad.”
Echoes of the loud bang from Will’s gun filled my head. I felt like his heavy, limp body was leaning on my back, trying to force my knees to buckle and send me to the ground as I remembered my dad’s final moments.
Surprisingly, I managed to keep the shake out of my hand as I took the letter and held it in front of me. Chewing my lip, I read and reread my name over and over, waiting for a little voice in my head to tell me what to do. But it was quiet.
As if on autopilot, I walked to the bin and dropped the letter inside.
“Do you not want to read it?” he asked. I shook my head but continued to stare at the envelope sitting among my other discarded crap. “It might be important.”
“He didn’t have anything important to say when he was living, so I doubt he would now that he’s dead.”
“Stefany…”
