Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

“Do you like your life?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One that I’d like an answer to. Life is about meeting your eyes in the mirror without flinching.”

“Is that why you’re extorting money from innocent people and whoring yourself out?” I lifted a defiant chin. I hated that he was patronizing me. Hated that I’d opened up to him, just because he was the only one who seemed to remotely care. Hated that he was right. I wasn’t living. Not really.

None of my reasons for being crude mattered, though, the minute I saw his face. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his short nails bit into the trendy, white wood of the table. There is ice in those veins. The thought trickled into my conscience. Bane was normally laid-back, but now, I saw him for who he was. He put that mask of bored-and-pissed on his face again, and I wished I could tear it off and see how he really felt about what I’d said, just so I could hurt for hurting him.

“It’s true.” I raised my quivering voice, straightening my spine. “That’s what you are. A criminal and a whore.”

Kick me out. Let me go. I’m no good, I inwardly begged. You will ruin me, and there’s not much left to ruin. Please let me keep whatever I have left.

“You don’t believe that,” he said, his baritone voice taciturn and relaxed.

“That you’re a whore? I do.”

“Well, then, get the fuck out of here.” He gestured for the door, still wearing the bored mask. “Now.”

I stared at his face, debating my next move. It was his eyes that managed to scare me more than his words. To penetrate my soul. I grabbed my backpack from under my chair and stood up. Something stirred inside me. Something unsettling. I felt…heated. Suddenly intense. I wasn’t used to this feeling. Was I anxious? Sure. Scared? More times than I wanted to admit. But rage was different. It was passionate.

It didn’t even make any sense. I’d insulted him—so he’d kicked me out of his place. It was natural. Understandable, even. So why did I want to throw the smoothie in his face and defy every word that came out of his mouth? Anything to create more friction, and taunt, and drink up his attention and face and secrets.

Why do I want to fight this guy? Maybe because I knew, after today, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t use his physical advantage over me to try to win.

“Thanks for the smoothie.” I turned around and stormed out, my relief of leaving the crowded place caked with irritation and a weird sense of loss. I clutched the handle of my Range Rover’s door and jerked it open. His voice boomed behind me.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a huge pain in the ass?”

I turned around, pointing at him with a trembling finger.

“You said life is about meeting your eyes in the mirror. I just wondered if you’re at peace with sleeping with random people for favors.”

He flashed me a look-at-this-little-naïve-girl smirk. “Need I remind you that I’m young, healthy, and this town is the home of a high percentage of very dickable people?”

“So now dick is a verb, but Men in Black isn’t?”

His face transformed from patronizing to surprised, then from surprised to bemused. He shook his head, taking another step toward me.

“You should know better than anyone that words have an impact.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I turned to him fully, yelling now. My palms itched to slap him across the face. Seagulls floated above us, eavesdropping.

“It means that you’re impossible.” He finally sighed, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am. So don’t try to make me possible.” I turned back to my vehicle, yanking my door open.

“Fine. Go ahead. Hide from the world.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Snowflake.”

I don’t sleep at night. Haven’t for a long time now.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why not? It’s a perfect fit, considering you’re having a fucking meltdown.”

I was waiting for him to say something more. I swiveled to him again, not exactly sure why it was so hard to just leave. We stood in front of each other on the busy promenade, panting hard, shooting daggers at each other. We made a scene, one that attracted the eyes and ears of beachgoers. I clutched the roots of my hair, realizing that sometime during that hour, I’d removed my ball cap and hood. People could see me. My face. My vulnerability. All of me.

I turned around, jumped into the car, and took off like the devil was at my heels.

When I got to the first red light, I punched my steering wheel and let out a scream.

It felt good.

I felt alive.

I let the delicious pain and anger swirl in me like a storm, knowing I was going to regret every single word I’d told Bane that afternoon.