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I don’t get the chance to argue. Before I can, Burns notices my reaction, and says, “Believe me, angel. I would never put a gun to your head with a loaded chamber.”
His weight on the bed shifts. I can’t see what he’s doing behind me—and I’m stubborn enough not to look—when, suddenly, he’s back. He must’ve reached over the edge of the cot to retrieve his gun because he leans over me now, showing off the gun.
He’s right. The chambers are empty.
Was he fast enough to remove the rounds before he showed me the gun? Maybe.
I have to ask. “What about you? What about the way you put the gun to your temple like that?”
Burns disappears the gun. I don’t know where he puts it since I’m completely distracted by the solemness that thrums in his tone as he admits, “If I thought I would lose you, I wouldn’t fucking hesitate to pull the trigger.”
Oh.
I let that sink in for a minute. If he’s telling the truth, that means that Burns would rather blow his own brains out than live without me and… yeah.
I don’t know what to say to that.
My whole life, I’ve never had anyone who cared about me that much. I still don’t know what I did to make it so that Burns does. The only thing he said was that, from the moment I gave him that first daisy, I was his—even if I didn’t know it yet. He picked me out because I was kind to him, just like I admired him from afar because he was handsome, he seemed strong, and he saved me from danger, something none of the cops back in Fairview ever did.
In the moment, when Burns turned the gun on himself… that was the first time I’ve felt fear—real fear—since I woke up in the basement and realized I was trapped. Somehow, in the time since, I stopped being afraid of him. He promised he wouldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to. I held him to that.
But when I believed he was going to shoot himself, I was afraid. And maybe most of it was because I would be stuck in the basement with the body of a dead cop, but a tiny part of me was terrified to see Burns blow his head off.
Did I really think he would? No. Was I thinking rationally? Not even a little.
And to hear him admit that it’s something he wouldn’t hesitate to do in certain circumstances… I don’t know how to respond to that.
So I don’t. Instead, I ask, “If the gun wasn’t loaded, then why do it at all?”
“Because I know you, angel. You’ve been dying to get your mouth on my cock, but you’re just too good. You wouldn’t go down on your knees on your own, but if I gave you a reason to? If I gave you the excuse? I’d get inside of you one way or another, and you can continue to think of me as the bad guy.”
“You are the bad guy, Burns.”
Another kiss on the back of my neck. “I know. And you love it.” His hand squeezes my hip. “You love me.”
I love you!
“Don’t get any ideas. I only said it because of the gun,” I mumble into my pillow.
I should’ve known better than to think that Burns would let me get the last word, especially now. Rising up on his elbow, he leans over me, gripping my chin and turning my face so that I’m not continuing to hide from him. Once he has me where he wants me, he kisses me. A deep kiss that has me turning into him, my fingers clutching at his bare chest.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his lips curve into a knowing grin. “Lie all you want. I know better, and they still taste fucking delicious.”
I’m not lying.
I’m not.
Right?
* * *
I losetrack of how long we lay like this. With one of Burns’s arms tucked beneath me, the other thrown over my side, tugging me so that I’m nestled against his bare chest, I’m too comfortable to move. Besides, even if I do turn away from him, he’ll just spoon me from behind. I can’t get away from him, and hours after Carter Santorino died in front of me, I realize I don’t want to.
Does that mean I want to stay in this basement?
I… don’t.
It’s not like I believe in ghosts. That’s not it at all. I keep waiting for some kind of remorse to hit me that, because of me, a man is dead. Ishotsomeone, and I watched him be tortured before he died.
