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“I don’t help battered women because I feel guilty.”
He shrugs. “I guess we’ll see.”
We’ll see if I don’t smother his smug ass in his sleep.
“I don’t get your deal. Why tell me now? You think I’m going to run back to my sister now that I know I’m not wanted by the authorities?”
“Why stay away when you don’t have to?”
He’s trying to push me away. I taunted him to admit his feelings for me, and now he regrets it. Well, that’s too fucking bad.
“Why not tell me where she is and see for yourself?” Because he doesn’t trust that I actually love him. He thinks I’ll run, and it’ll take him years to find me again. But unlike before, the only leverage he’ll have is this bullshit fire Detective Lee thinks I started. I’m positive I can get Blake to drop those charges.
“Unless… you’re scared—”
I don’t see him jump to his feet. I only see the door slam in my face after he shoves me inside.
Reese
I didn’t have it in me to get mad.
Okay, well, I was mad for a while and sat at the door, glaring at my secretive, emotionally fragile husband until I grew hungry. It wasn’t like Van looked back to see if I was sitting there, plotting his demise. Nope. He just kept on working like nothing was freaking wrong.
Am I relieved to know I didn’t kill Robert? Sure. But I still want proof. I’ve never known Van to be a liar, but why keep my sister’s whereabouts a secret if I didn’t kill Robert? Julia said she would take the blame and tell the cops it was her that hit him with the cast iron pan.
We didn’t have long to think our plan through. We were both runaways who had rented a room with Robert and his friends. It was only a matter of time before someone came home and found him lying in a pool of blood.
So, I took the pan and ran, holding Julia’s promise that she would call me when she was safe. It’s why I always send money to women’s shelters. As runaway teens, they were the only places we trusted not to send us back to foster care after our parents died. Not that we gave them a chance to do it. We moved quickly before people could get suspicious. It wasn’t until I met Van in South Carolina that I started to relax. If Van could get away with burning down a cigar lounge the mayor owned, then I was perfectly fine living in Orange Grove and lusting over a hot-as-sin arsonist.
We were a match made in bad decision heaven.
I shove another handful of chips into my mouth, not bothering to be ladylike by using a bowl. I’ve never seen Van eat anything but vegetables, so I figure he won’t mind if I eat from the bag since he likely gags at the sight of processed food. After all, the refrigerator and pantry I found stocked full of food had to be for me—or the safety of delivery drivers in the area.
You know, that’s probably the source of Van’s attitude. He eats nothing but homegrown food that someone probably grows on this property somewhere. The man needs some sugar and carbs! When I’m angry, I can usually stop it with a handful of gummy bears and Hot Cheetos, but seeing how Van didn’t buy any, I’ll have to improvise and bake him some cookies. I’ll call them Asshole Reducers. The cure for the common cunt.
We’ve been arguing for an hour. The cookies are cold and still wrapped in a napkin on Van’s bedside table. Not that their being cold is all Van’s fault. After I finished baking the tastiest cookies in Georgia, I ran into our room—see how I used our and not Van’s? Van should take note. Anyway, I found my naked husband freshly showered, asleep on the bed with my traitor of a cat curled into his side.
Something came over me, and it felt a lot like jealousy. I’m not ashamed to admit that I moved that damn cat, stripped off my clothes, and took her place next to my husband. Immediately, his eyes opened, and I did what any loving wife would do. I threatened his ass. No one needed him to make a big deal about my jealousy or that I was snuggling with the bastard. I simply told him to close his eyes and go back to sleep before I set his precious cat on fire.
He did, and we both slept in peace for several hours.
Now, it’s a whole different vibe.
“For fuck’s sake. Can you not be a paranoid criminal right now? I swear, I’m not going to kill you. Just close your eyes and open your mouth.”
Those dark brows arch sarcastically. “Your pussy might cloud my judgment on most of your requests, but not enough to close my eyes and expose my throat to the enemy.”
And we’re back to that again. “I’m naked.” I sweep a hand over my body to punctuate a fact he already knows. “You can see I’m not armed.”
“Therein lies your problem, Mrs. Cain. You never learn.”
After several ridiculous seconds of dramatic pause, he slips his hand under the sheet and reveals a book of matches.
Have mercy on my soul—this freaking man.
Snatching the matches from his hand, I level him with a scolding look. “Therein lies your problem, Mr. Cain. Even when you know the truth, you still can’t manage to trust.”
“I don’t know the truth. I know your version of the story.”
