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“Wait. I don’t have shoes on.”
I don’t care. What’s a few thorns to her? It can’t be as bad as the knives she’s stuck in my back.
She calls me a bastard under her breath, which is basically an I love you in my love language.
“Be sure and close the door behind you,” I snap. “I don’t want Biscuit getting out.”
“Oh, Biscuit. Is she a prisoner, too?”
“Cute,” I note, “but no. Unlike you, she is loyal.”
“You do remember Biscuit is my cat. Before you came along, she was ‘loyal’ to me.” A victorious grin emerges on Reese’s face. “If you want to get technical, Biscuit is just as much a traitor as you think I am. Except, unlike me, she abandoned her partner to chase dick.”
“Be careful, Wife.” I’m in her face instantly. “Throwing around terms of endearment will occupy your mouth far longer than your delivery driver has.”
Her pupils widen as the realization sinks in.
“I am a man of tradition,” I add. “Being my prisoner does not exclude you from partaking in your wifely duties.” My cock strains against my trousers at the thought of a nice hate-fuck later. “I am giving you time to adjust to your new cell.” I grin viciously. “But know that you will consummate our marriage with my cock until I release you.” Fuck her sarcasm. “The only pussy that will chase my dick will be yours, Mrs. Cain.”
I almost expect her to punch me, but she doesn’t. Instead, Mrs. Cain pats me on the shoulder and shakes her head with a chuckle.
“Get your coat, stud. You may need it to keep in the hot air you’re blowing. I’d hate for you to burn with your ego.”
Not because she told me to but because I’m enjoying her eyes glazing me over as I become the man she remembers me to be, I slip my black hoodie over my head like I did all those years ago. In this world, I am known as Alistair Cain, and Van Gogh is only known as the original and famous artist. But for Reese, I will always be Van Gogh, the vigilante arsonist.
“Wow,” she notes, finally closing the door behind her.” Who knew the ADA wore bargain brands?”
Who knew she was this lippy?
“Should we save your delivery driver?” I ask, “Or would you like to keep chatting about my thrifty attire?” Honestly, I hope she picks the latter so that I can remember not to be charmed by her mouth. With her middle finger, she motions for me to proceed, and I find it rather charming. But not enough to leave the door unlocked. Flipping the keys out of my pocket, I pull out the lighter with it.
“You still carry it,” she notes.
“It hasn’t run out of fuel yet,” I lie.
Actually, there are four containers of lighter fluid in the basement that prevent the lighter from ever running dry. I’m traditional and sentimental.
“Whew. Let’s get out of here before the smell of bullshit is unbearable.”
I made her walk the whole way to the gate. I wanted to remind her of the shadows that hide behind the rolling hills and expansive oak trees. During the day, Eden is a picture of innocence—an infinite space of lush gardens. But like everywhere else, those gardens have thorns and decay and dying roots underneath that must be nurtured.
At least, that’s the metaphor Enoch uses for us.
It took a long time for me to understand the metaphor. In my eyes, I will always have the roots of my past. But Enoch once said, “Even young sunflowers can bear the burns of the sun, for they cannot control where they are planted. But they can adapt and bloom just as if they were sowed in nutrient-rich soil.”
Eden is our revival—our fresh soil, rich with nutrients and opportunities to start over and grow to our full potential. It’s also the place I feel the most insecure. Living in Eden comes with expectations. It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything Enoch has done for me. It’s just sometimes Eden and its expectations are overwhelming.
I want to be the man Enoch thinks I am. I don’t want him to regret taking me in, but every day is a fight. A struggle to keep the vindictive thoughts away and replace them with forgiveness and understanding. The justice system failed me. It failed my mother, and while I can’t change it overnight, I can make sure that one less family suffers at its hand.
“For a place that’s so beautiful,” Reese says, closer than I expected, breaking into my thoughts, “it sure feels spooky at night.”
Thankfully, she can’t see the grin that emerges. “What did you expect? Eden is full of criminals who come out at night to play.”
Her breath hitches, and it only makes my sick smile widen.
“What did you think we’d have? Lights hanging from the trees, cute patio furniture, and a fire pit as we relax with our tumbler of brandy, gazing up at the stars?” I shake my head, knowing that’s exactly what she thought. “Don’t let this place fool you. Its beauty comes with flaws.”
We try to be better men, but that doesn’t mean we always make the right decisions.
