Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

Fuck. I loved her in overalls.

I gazed at her olive skin, and the brown hair on her head hanging down her arms. The plump chest and the pink lips.

And the rope that was around her wrists this morning back around her neck, the slack hanging between her breasts and inside her overalls.

I smiled.

Sitting up, she scooted over to me, and I stood in front of her, looking down at my Little Trouble who hadn’t changed a bit from how badly she pissed me off and got me hard in high school.

“Micah and Rory are staying at an apartment in town.” I reached over, caressing her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “You want to join them?”

She shook her head.

I moved to the other cheek, caressing what was mine and then taking her jaw, gently holding it.

“They’ve got food upstairs,” I murmured. “You want food?”

Again, she shook her head.

I tipped her chin up, loving how she played. It pleased me.

“You want to stay with me?” I taunted.

Slowly, she nodded.

Reaching into my jacket, I took out a case and set it on the bedside table.

“I refilled your prescription for your glasses.”

I was able to talk Dr. Lawrence here into contacting her doctor in California and getting her most recent prescription filled.

“Where’d you get the overalls?” I asked.

“Found them in Rika’s closet.”

“And you’re down here alone, despite the door not being locked?”

She didn’t move.

The outfit, the rope, the willing and waiting in bed… I wondered when the fight would come, because it would, but God, I loved that she wasn’t rushing back to being my enemy. Fucking her in this bed tonight might be nice.

Pulling her up, I sat myself down in her place and pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

Sweat cooled my pores, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, the last year or so and everything in the last twenty-four hours making my head spin.

For five minutes, I needed something to hold on to.

I tightened my hold, smelling her hair and damn near tasting her. If she hadn’t shown up at Blackchurch, would I really have sought my revenge? Would I have chased her down in California and made her pay?

And how would I have done it?

I’d learned about the pictures and the lies almost two years ago, after Damon’s father was killed. Then it was six months of trying to chase away the rage with globetrotting, running, and drinking before I knew what I had to do. That was when I went to Blackchurch.

I dreaded dealing with her, because even still—after the betrayal—I hadn’t wanted to lose her.

“I should’ve come to you,” she finally said. “I wish I had come to you and explained and faced you then.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, knowing it wasn’t all her fault. I wasn’t a passenger in all of this.