Page 44 of Burned By Sin
A ripple of silence falls between us, the back of my neck prickling with instant regret. Rhys raises a solitary brow, his pierced lip turning downwards. Clay lingers, unsure whether to stay or go.
“Shit, Rhys, I didn’t mean?—”
“Is that what you think I am?” Using his tongue to toy with his lip ring, Rhys nods and strides past me. I share a quick pitying glance with Clay, who salutes me and mouths,good luck. Great, thanks for that.
Catching up to Rhys' side, I try to get him to slow down and look at me, but he’s a man on a mission. Said mission apparently brings us to the café in the veterinary building. I’m not overly surprised, since Toadfully Caffeinated is Rhys’ favorite coffee spot and it is lunchtime. I’ve got an hour before I told Addy I’d be at her disposal. One hour to bring Rhys back from whatever dangerous mood I’ve put him in.
Rhys stops short, opening the door and waiting for me to enter first. I blink, forcing my feet to move as he stalks in behind, his heavy boots thudding against the polished floor. The faint smell of disinfectant and freshly ground coffee mingle in the air, the low chatter of students studying over lattes dipping into an uneasy silence as we pass. They can feel Rhys’ mood like I can. It’s practically a black raincloud hanging overhead, each step brewing a storm beneath his skin.
Despite the wariness of those seated at tables, I straighten my shoulders and slip my hand into his. As Rhys clamps his fingers between mine, electricity burns in my veins, a heady power swimming through me. It must be intoxicating, being the most feared man in the room, and I’m his woman. I’m the barrier between him and those who fear him.
The hiss of the espresso machine fills the space, stream polluting the air behind the counter. With fogged glasses, Kenneth blinks up at me and grins.
“Hey Harper!” he calls out, oblivious to the way Rhys tenses. Or perhaps Kenneth doesn’t really care. “What are you doing here? Oh that’s right, Clayton has his therapy thing with the sophomores. They’ve challenged him to add more color to his wardrobe. Did you notice his green socks today?” Kenneth’s smile is so broad, his muddy eyes are alight with glee.
“He told you all of that?” I raise my brows. It’s not that I don’t expect Clay to talk to his roommate, but I only just heard of this counselling thing ten minutes ago. Kenneth tilts his head back and forth, his vibrant orange hair flopping around.
“He talks in his sleep. So what can I get you? We have a new frog-themed menu,” Kenneth points to the chalkboard overhead and talks me through each item. Rhys is vibrating with impatience but I grip his hand tighter and make him wait it out. Kenneth is just being good at his job, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Grinning at his lengthy explanations, I cut in to order before Rhys wrings Kenneth’s neck.
“I’ll have a maple leap latte, and a caramel swamp macchiato forRhys.” Kenneth looks at the tattooed man beside me for the first time, and dismisses him just as quickly. The lack of trepidation in Kenneth’s face is interesting, but perhaps Clay has shared more in his sleep than he’s aware of. Kenneth is being a good friend in having roommate’s back.
“Grab a seat and I’ll bring them over to you.”
Turning me away swiftly, Rhys’ jaw ticks as his gaze sweeps the room, searching for the table he’d like. I know in Rhys’ mind, that isn’t limited to vacant tables. When someone brushes past him reaching for a stirrer, he growls.
“Watch where you’re going.” The student freezes, stammers an apology, and retreats like he’s just brushed against a live wire. I roll my eyes, dragging him over to anemptytable in the window.
“Can you not?” I whisper, keeping my tone low as I switch my hearing over to a microphone that Rhys clips onto the neck of his T-shirt. This way, it’s more streamlined to the person I’m having a conversation with, rather than flooding my skull with background noise. “You’re scaring people.”
“They should be scared,” he mutters, eyes narrowing at the group in the booth we sat in last time. “Someone knows more than they should. I’m just waiting for them to slip up.” Kenneth carries over a tray and sets down our coffees, along with a pecan pond pie on the house. I smile as he retreats, waiting to be alone before speaking.
“Anything come back from the hacker this time?” I try to sound nonchalant. Inside, I’m burning for answers as strongly as I’m fearing what those answers might be. The bubble around me is growing thin, but I will live in it until I’m forced to do otherwise. I want to be as normal as any girl who has two almost-boyfriends and trying to get the degree that might just kill her off before someone else gets the chance.
“He ran a trace on the guy that gave you the coffee before winter break,” Rhys says cryptically for anyone eavesdropping. What he wants to say is, the guy who drugged and photographed us whilst unconscious, who he then proceeded to beat the shit out of without diggingany deeper. “The demand came from a burner phone and he was wire-transferred a good sum of money from an off-shore account. Another dead end that leads nowhere.”
“Who on campus would have an off-shore account and that kind of money lying around? Other than you, of course.” I scrunch up my nose as I stir my latte. In my peripheral vision, Rhys goes still. His icy blue eyes flicker with annoyance before he exhales through his nose.
“That’s the second accusation you’ve made of me. What am I, an unmuzzled dog or a psycho stalker?” The urge to roll my eyes is strong.
“What you are is on your man-period,” I reply. Rhys leans back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking under his tension. I sip my drink, watching him over the rim as he tries to get himself under control. The micro expressions are twitching, the crease between his brows is contracting. After a couple of minutes, Rhys exhales over the microphone and although it’s like a leaf blower going off in my head, I smile and reach for his hand. I know he’s frustrated, but anger isn’t going to help. It’s just going to suffocate both of us.
“Look, Addy has asked for my help. I want to be a good friend. You can support me in that, or you can let me go alone. Those are the two options.” I hold his stare, refusing to back down. I know it’s naïve to become comfortable, that the weeks of silence from this creep shouldn’t be taken lightly, but I can’t live on edge all of the time. I can’t look over my shoulder forever, or as Rhys would prefer, hide in his frat house. I need to live. “So…are you coming with me or not?”
Chapter Twenty Seven
I hang back near the gymnasium door, keeping my promise to watch over Harper while mentally cataloguing every idiot who so much as looks her way. I tell myself that staying close to the exit means I can leave whenever I want, but that’s a lie. I couldn’t walk away from Harper any more than I could leave my balls nailed to the railing I’m leaning on.
After leaving the cafe, she insisted on going back to her dorm to change into ‘more appropriate clothing’. But now, as I stare at her bent over a sheet of MDF in leopard-print lycra, I wish I’d dragged her out in the baggy sweatpants she’d had on before. Her curves are on full display for anyone who dares to look, her stunning face is frozen with concentration. Then there’s her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. A tongue that’s good for so much more than simply dragging along the underside of my cock. Said-cock jolts in my boxers and I have to sneakily rearrange myself.
How can she still be affecting me this way? Harper is pure sin wrapped in a silent strength others don’t have the right to see. I no longer crave her insults like whips, slicing through whatever soul I have left. I crave her compliments. The hidden smiles and light touches. Howshe’s building me up, brick by brick, showing me a path I never thought possible.
One that’s led me here, watching the set up of a farce. The talent show is in two days, and somehow, I’m supposed to believe the anarchy before me will turn into a performance worth watching. Contestants are scattered across the basketball court, practicing their acts while art students frantically paint props and backdrops. A guy on a unicycle juggles between two ladders while students hang glittering stars from the basketball hoops. A wannabe opera singer goes off key when the unicycle juggler bumps into a passer-by and the paint they’re carrying splatters all over her dress. The whole thing’s a disaster in motion, and this is just the rehearsal.
Harper’s in the middle of it all, on all fours, bobbing her head to music only she can hear. A paintbrush in her hand, another tucked behind her ear, she’s working on a night-sky skyline backdrop. Every so often, she glances my way, probably to check if I’m still here, and grins with satisfaction. I raise my brow as if to say,Babygirl, I’m not going anywhere.
“If you’re going to stand there glaring like a gargoyle, you might as well make yourself useful,” Addy calls out as she strides over, attitude dripping from her. Her tiny shorts and gym vest show off her tattooed arms and legs, the colorful ink a complete contrast to the black and gray that cover mine. There’s a streak of blue paint on her forehead that ruins her attempt at a glare.
I don’t need a sign to display Addy’s dislike for me, and the feeling is mutual. Ever since she violated my toenails. I picked the polish off in the end, but the pink twinge lingered so I colored over them in black sharpie. It seems to have held up and Harper is yet to say anything.
