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Of course, of freaking course he would show up just when I was okay again, when I was done pining over someone I knew I could never have for more than the one blissful night I got with him.
"What?" I hissed, realizing the gun was still raised when his eyes went there, brow raised. My hand dropped numbly to my side. "They're rubber bullets," I felt the need to explain. "We would never use live rounds."
"Can't say that doesn't make me feel better," he agreed. "Is this little nugget allowed inside the house? He seems to think he is. He was knocking when I walked up."
"I think he might have, um, like imprinted on me or something," I explained, putting the gun down and reaching for the chick, careful to not let our fingers brush as I did so. I knew physical contact would not be a good thing. Namely, because I would want more and more of it and that would only complicate things further.
I forced myself to turn away from him, big-eyeing the room as I took the chicken to the kitchen where I grabbed a handful of the rice I had made the night before and gave it to him.
I could literally feel him behind me, even though he wasn't standing close. I could feel the way his eyes were raking over me. I could hear the unasked questions.
Feeling uncomfortable, I looked out the back window out into the dark. "What are you doing here, Mark?"
"You couldn't even say you were heading out of town, Scotti?"
"For what?" I asked, feeling him move in behind me, but refusing to turn. His hands planted wide on the counter to my sides, bringing back the bright, vivid memory of him doing the exact same thing in his kitchen. "You had to have known what we had was temporary." God, those words were hard to force out. The truth often was.
"Maybe you saw it that way, Scotti. I didn't. I wanted more."
Those last three words were said right beside my ear, his warm breath making a shiver course its way through my system.
And they also sliced right through me.
The feeling was immediate and overwhelming.
"I wanted more too," I admitted, swallowing hard, using every bit of strength I possessed to not lean back into him. I needed to stand my ground. I needed to keep my wits about me.
"And yet..."
"And yet, I had to go. You knew I would. I knew I would. There was no way for me to ever stay in Navesink Bank. Hell, there's no way for me to even stay in this country."
"Since the fuck when?" Mark asked, sounding exasperated, moving away from me.
Feeling safe turning when he was a few feet away, I did. "What?"
"Honey, this country is full of criminals. Most of them far fucking worse than you and your brothers. Murderers. Rapists. Kingpins. People who get a leg up in life by stepping on the necks of others. They don't feel the need to go to fucking Russia. They grease the right palms. They stay smart. They trust few with the truth. But they stay."
"I don't see how it's worth the risk."
"The risk of what? Prison? Scotti, I saw the news report of this robbery. The descriptions sounded fucking nothing like you or your brothers for that matter. I couldn't even tell you which one did the job with you and I know what they all look like. You guys have covered your tracks really well. I bet if I looked back to the older ones, they would be just as diverse and different from daily appearance. Actually," he said, suddenly looking serious. "If you guys wear disguises, why weren't you on the day we met?"
"I wasn't technically in on that job. We all take turns on who does what each time, except Rush who is always on wheels. But for those of us who aren't in on the actual job, sometimes we just walk the store to make sure no cops are shopping, or any customers are carrying randomly that could cause a problem. I was just keeping an eye out for trouble."
"Guess you found it, huh?" he asked, a devilish spark in his eye for a second before looking around. "Where are your brothers?"
"They were in a celebrating mood."
"And you weren't?" he asked, moving away from me, an act that seemed to allow me to breathe again as he moved toward the living space, picking up the book I had been reading. "You'd rather sit at home and read books about plants?"
"There's a huge garden here. I found out that I'm kind of into it," I explained, feeling a little weird admitting that. It wasn't like I picked up some cool hobby like Krav Maga or electric guitar. I was into gardening. Like my grandmother used to be. If I remembered correctly, she had an amazing garden. I was maybe hoping that green thumbs ran in the family.
