I shake my head. “I’m not as perfect as you think I am, Cason. I have flaws and thoughts all the time that go against the version of myself that I let the world see. I think that’s true for everyone. I would’ve never pegged you to be a cold-hearted killer, but here we are.”
Silence falls over the room like a wet blanket.
I don’t force him to speak and turn my attention to the outside again. The sun has come up more, sunrise has almost finished painting the sky in different colors.
“I’m not as cold-hearted as you think I am. Some jobs are hard. Taking a life, even when I know they’re a scumbag, isn’t easy. I can’t just walk up and kill anyone. I need to take my time to build up to the moment. By getting intel and other things on the person. I gear up for that final moment. It isn’t automatic, I’m not a robot, Jo.”
For a moment, my heart hammers. It’s good to hear him say those things. I think I needed to hear him say it.
“Like I said yesterday, it’s a job. One I was born into.”
My thumb rubs at the rim of the mug. “So, if you have kids, they would be raised to become hitmen, too? Is Rosalie one?”
He nods, and I’m not sure if he’s answering both questions or just one. I cock my head to the side and he rubs at the back of his neck. “Rosalie is one of us. She’s a femme fatale. Working closely with hits before taking them out. She’s amazing and badass, but I sometimes wish our dad would’ve kept her out of the life-like your father did you. You went off and became a businesswoman and a baker. I sometimes wish she could’ve had that. I think she’s jealous because you’ve gotten to do what you want, but she feels like she has to honor our family. She’s one of the best on our team.”
I blink. I didn’t think about it like that. Because of my ignorance of what was happening around me, I was able to live my life how I wanted to. My father has never stopped any of my dreams, but growing up, I remember Dimitri and him would get into epic fights about his future. Dimitri wanted to go off and see the world or something and father made him first go to university for business and then go work for him, and that’s where he’s been the last ten years. Why did I get freedom when he wasn’t allowed a choice?
I suppose I wasn’t either. They chose to not tell me anything, so I never knew there was a choice to be had. I do remember when I was really little, I used to say one day I would work for my father as well, and take over his company, and he always told me that would never happen as long as he was living. I used to think he was a sexist jerk, who didn’t want a woman running the corporation he built, but now I realize he was trying to keep me from learning about his secrets. Did he think he would be able to keep it a secret for my entire life? Eventually, all secrets come to the surface. At some point, either before or after his death I would’ve figured something out.
“Shit! The quiche!”
Cason bolts from the chair and hurries out of the room.
“Shit!”
The acidic scent of smoke meets my nose. He burnt the crust if that’s how he made it. My heart hurts for the pastry. I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat the burnt crust. He left the door open. Standing, I go to it, the chain prevents me from passing through it, but I can at least see the rest of the place from the door.
I frown. All I’m seeing is a living room, a small log burning stove and oven, and a small kitchenette space. There’s a couch that faces the hall, but it doesn’t look like one of those that pulls out into a bed. Why would a place like this need more than one bed, when it’s clearly built for one person?
Where did he sleep last night? On that sofa that looks like it hasn’t seen cotton filling for the last decade?
I watch as he grimaces over the quiche with the browned top and burnt edges. He looks back down the hall and meets my gaze. His eyes glance at the chain secured around my ankle, making sure that I can’t make it out the door. “I burnt the quiche.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “I can smell and see that. The middle should be fine. I don’t advise eating the crust, it doesn’t look like any of the edges can be saved.”
He laughs as his gaze goes back to his ruined creation and he ruffles his hair. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I was trying so hard to make something that doesn’t come from a can. Well. The crust came from a can, but everything else was from scratch, sort of.”
I laugh with him. “Well, for our other meals, you could let me off this leash and I can help you. I might be a baker, but I can cook some, too.”
His blue eyes turn on me again and he frowns.
“I’m not going to try and get away, Cason. I’ve already told you, I have a fear of bears and I know that there’s a grizzly just waiting for me to take a step out into those woods to come and find me.”
Cason chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “There aren’t any grizzly bears in the woods here. It’s still New York, even if we’re in the rural part of it. There are black bears though.”
I tighten my hold on my mug. The thought of running into any bear no matter their kind sets me on edge. “I don’t care if cuddly-looking pandas roam these woods, I don’t want to run into any of them.”
A deep laugh bursts forth from him, and he places his hand on his stomach. “Cuddly pandas?”
My lips curve into a smile. I guess it’s a little funny, even if I’m dead serious about not wanting to wander the woods alone. I don’t do well with nature. I was raised in the jungle that is called New York City. The few hiking trips I did go on while on school trips were enough for me to get a taste of nature and decide that it wasn’t for me. “It’s not funny, Cason. Pandas are dangerous, too!”
He wipes a tear from his eye as his laughter dies down and he looks at me. “Like I said, Jo, I would never let anything hurt you.”
His stare goes straight to my core, wetness begins to pool and the ache in my clit from earlier has returned with a vengeance. I’m reminded of the fact that I’m not wearing my clothes, and that there’s no underwear between me and Rosalie’s shorts. Hell, I’m not sure if underwear could save the shorts at this point. Part of me wishes I could close the door and keep him out so I can take care of myself.
Being here, alone, with him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hide my desire for him. Before all the shit happened, I was going to make a point of telling him how I feel. His gaze turns away from me and he starts to cut into the burnt quiche.
My thoughts go back to what we were talking about before he remembered he was cooking. I hadn’t gotten to hear what he planned to do if he had kids. Would he want them to be killers like him? When I was younger, before my thoughts turned to sex and nothing else, I would daydream about us getting married and having kids. A boy and a girl. But with this new knowledge, I’m not sure I would want kids with him. At least, I would want them to be able to choose what they want to be and not be forced into it like he was.
