13. Ivan

13

IVAN

I have the other key, so I can get back in the room. But I don't, not for several long minutes after Charlotte bolts back inside and slams the door.

For one thing, it's clear she needs space. I'd rather her be inside and me outside while she calms down, instead of the other way around. It's more dangerous to be out here, if anyone is watching. Or if anyone finds us here.

For another—I need a minute alone, too. I can still feel the need for her, throbbing through me like a demand, and it's hard to shove it down. I want her with a ferocity that feels painful.

The change in hair color didn't make her any less beautiful to me. She still looks just as gorgeous as a blonde as she did when she was a brunette. And I don't give a shit that it's not some salon-fancy job. It's not just Charlotte's looks that make me want her. It's everything about her.

And it's something intangible, too. A chemistry, a connection that I've never felt with anyone before. Even when she's angry with me, even when we're fighting, I want her more than I've ever wanted anyone in my entire life. When she slapped me in the bathroom, I swear it got me fucking hard. I had to take that shower just to cool off, so that when I came back out, I'd be able to think straight. And then I came out to see her smoking, and the thought of tasting the smoke on her lips that I've tasted in my mouth before made me so turned on I couldn't think straight.

Her yelling at me after I told her to stop didn't help, either. And I know she doesn't want me telling her what to do. But I'm not about to be the reason she picks up a bad habit like that. I've screwed up her life enough already.

I run my hands through my wet hair, feeling it snag on my fingers as I lean back against the wall, looking out to the empty parking lot. This isn't the life for someone like her. She's no princess, I meant it when I told her that earlier, and she's holding up remarkably well. But Charlotte deserves better than back road motels and fast food dinners. Better than a life spent looking over her shoulder, waiting for the hot slice of a bullet to end all of it when the shit finally catches up.

I was born into this. She wasn't. And I shouldn't keep trying to drag her down with me.

I glance back into the room, where I see the shape of her underneath the duvet, facing away from where I'm standing. She's turned off all the lights except the one small one on the other side of the bed, and my chest tightens as I wonder if it's for my benefit, or hers. If it's a small, subconscious kindness to leave a light on for me, or if it's because everything that's happened has made her afraid of the dark.

I want to crawl into that bed with her, wrap my arms around her, and let her fall asleep feeling safe. I want to be the one to make her feel that way.

But I've all but ensured I'll never be the one to make her feel that way again.

I glance down regretfully at the stubbed-out cigarette on the concrete, and I consider going in and getting one of my own. The nicotine would feel good right now. Something stronger would feel even better, but I don't have the time for that. I have to be on my guard, to keep her safe.

To make sure no one else hurts her.

With a heavy sigh, I reach for the key and walk quietly into the room, doing my best not to wake her. As I reach out to turn off the light, I take one long, lingering look at her face, soft and beautiful as she sleeps.

Even with the badly dyed blonde hair.

—

Charlotte is back to giving me the silent treatment when we leave the motel in the morning. Her hair is in a messy bun atop her head, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers down the back of her neck, where I know her skin feels like silk. Even harder is resisting the urge to wrap my fingers around the nape of it, pull her towards me, and kiss her like I did last night.

She's a constant temptation. A penance for everything I've done. And as we head down the highway in silence, I try to think about Vegas. About my contact. About what I'll do after this.

Anything other than how much I want to touch her.

The routine is the same. Gas station stops and long stretches of silent highway. We have better food today, thanks to our grocery store run, and I can tell Charlotte is happy to have some fruit and something not cooked in grease. Seeing the smile on her face when she eats a handful of strawberries makes me feel like I'd rob an entire grocery store blind, if that's what I needed to do to keep her smiling like that. It's the first time I've seen her smile since I took her from her apartment.

It makes me feel like I'd give anything to be the one who makes her happy.

That feeling persists as we drive through Minnesota, every time I glance over at her. She watches as the landscape changes as we drive into South Dakota, and I see her sit up a little, her eyes widening at the spray of color across the trees.

"I love fall," she says softly, and then she laughs, a sound that's as ironic as it is bitter.

"What?" I look at her curiously, and she laughs again.

"Every year, for as long as I can remember, I told myself I'd get out of the city this time of year and go on a road trip. Somewhere remote, where I could look at the leaves and nature and just have some quiet for a little while. I thought about conning Jaz and Zoe and Sarah into going with me, or sometimes I thought about just going alone." That laugh again, the irony thicker now. "I never once thought about asking Nate along. And now look at me. On a fall road trip with a man who conned me into it."

There's that stab of pain in my chest, harsher this time. It hurts more and more when she says things like that, with every passing day, and I know why. It's because, with every one of those days, I'm falling more and more for her—and also losing her, all at the same time.

But I think I have an idea of how to make her smile again. Just for a minute.

I don't say anything about it. I just wait until we're well into our drive for the day, and then spread out the atlas on my lap again, looking for the roads I'll need to take. Charlotte says nothing as I take an exit, probably assuming we're stopping for gas or food or headed for some out-of-the-way motel that will help shield us from my brothers and the FBI—provided they haven't figured out that we're going to Vegas and just headed straight there to ambush us. Which, ordinarily, would be correct.

But this time, I keep driving. Further out, towards one of the national parks I've been to before. The landscape changes, wilder, but still full of color, emblazoned with the reds and yellows, and oranges of fall. I turn onto a small side road and park in a tiny, barely-graveled lot, getting out to unhook the wires so the car will shut off.

Charlotte is watching me warily from inside the car. Her gaze keeps flicking from me to her surroundings and back again, and I can't help but wonder what she's thinking. I don't think it's anything good, and I feel that jab of pain in my chest again.

I open up her door. Her hands are clenched in her lap, and I hold out one of mine. "Come take a walk with me?"

One of Charlotte's eyebrows rise, slowly, but she gets out of the car without taking my hand. She walks past me, towards the thin trail that's just barely visible, and then pauses, looking back at me. "Are there bears out here?" She sounds uncertain, glancing at the path and the brightly-colored woods.

"Actually, not really. Not many of them out here any longer."

"But there's got to be some predators, right?" She looks at me for a moment too long, and I have an uncomfortable feeling that it's a jab at me. "Is this safe?"

"There's some snakes and mountain lions. But I've got a gun." I pat my hip. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Mountain lions?" Charlotte pales slightly, and I walk towards her, resisting the urge to touch her. I want to, badly, but I have a feeling it would upset her, and I don't want that. I want this moment that I've arranged with her as badly as I want to give it to her.

"You kept saying, every time we were out together, how you wanted to be more spontaneous. Less worried about the danger of things. Less of someone who needed to plan and think about every outcome."

I wait for her to say and look where that got me. But instead, she bites her lip, and nods.

"Alright."

I haven't forgotten when we went walking together before, when she still didn't know any of the truths about who I am. When she hinted that she wanted me to push her up against a tree and have her there, and I told her that wasn't going to be our first time. But I don't make any allusions to that now, even though the thought hangs in my head—all of the things that I still so badly want to do to her. I don't want her thinking about all of that right now. If she's going to think about anything at all, I want her to think about what could be, not what was.

It's a beautiful walk. The air is crisp and cool, and not far into it, Charlotte shrugs on the denim jacket that she bought on our little shopping trip. I see her hand twitch once, as if she's on the verge of reaching for mine and stops herself, and I try not to think about what it would feel like if she actually had reached out to hold my hand. What that would mean.

"Is it really a good idea for us to be out just walking like this?" A chilly wind whips past us, and Charlotte pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "We're on the run, right? Shouldn't we be, you know— running until we absolutely have to stop for the night?"

"We're pretty far out. And I don't think they'd expect me to take this route. As far as my family knows, I prefer the city to being out in the woods like this, but they don't know me that well. But then again, Lev can be crafty, when he takes the time to rub all of his brain cells together. So maybe he would think for me to take this route, because he'd think that maybe I'd do the opposite of what he'd expect. But either way—" I run a hand through my hair, sucking in a deep lungful of the crisp, clear air. "There's been no signs of anyone tailing us for a good bit. So I thought it'd be alright for us to take a little break."

Charlotte nods, shoving her hands into her pockets as we walk. "Did you just pick a random spot?" she asks, and I shake my head.

"I've been up here before. Maybe five-ish years ago, a little more now, even. When my family's shit started to get to be too much for me the first time, I realized that I didn't want to be a part of them for the rest of my life. Doing the things they asked of me for the rest of it. I took off on my own for a week or so, drove the Mustang up here in the summer, and spent some time just thinking. I did actually see a mountain lion," I add with a chuckle. "Scared it off."

Charlotte snorts at that, and I realize she doesn't believe me. "You scared off a mountain lion?"

I shrug. "I shot at it."

"You didn't just shoot it?"

"Why kill it if I didn't have to?" I shrug again, looking away so that she doesn't see the expression on my face, and I hope she doesn't try to dig much deeper. She knows enough about the worst parts of me, and not enough about the best. I don't want her to know that the reason I didn't want to shoot that mountain lion, no matter how deadly, was because I do enough killing in my day-to-day life. I didn't want to kill something that didn't need to die. Especially not when I was the one invading its space.

Charlotte looks pensive at that, as we keep walking. "So you've been here before. Where are we going?"

"Patience." I give her a crooked smile. "Just wait. We'll be there in a minute."

She looks at me sideways, but keeps walking. A few minutes later, we round a copse of trees, and come out to the view of a huge, glassy lake, fringed by more vibrant trees, reflected in the shimmering lake. I stop, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets as I look out at it, feeling the same way I did five years ago when I came up here. A feeling that, ever so briefly, a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

"This is beautiful," Charlotte says softly.

"Isn't it?" There's barely half an arm's length between us, but it feels like a gulf. I want so badly to reach out and put my arm around her waist, to pull her to me. "Sometimes I think I could stay out here forever."

"Why haven't you?" She glances over at me, and I see a hint of curiosity in her eyes.

"It's not far enough." I clench my hands in my pockets, wondering how much of this I really want to tell her. "They'd come after me. Three states away? Might as well just walk up to my father and tell him to his face that I'm walking out on the family business. It'd do me as much good when it comes to what he'd do to me." I shake my head. "I'll have to run a lot farther than South Dakota to get away from my father."

Charlotte lets out a slow breath. "That's awful," she says quietly, and the hint of sympathy in her voice is something I want to grab onto and hold, this small glimpse of her feeling something softer for me. "I'm sorry your family is—what they are."

"I was born into it." I shrug. "I've made some bad choices of my own, Charlotte, there's no doubt about that. But I didn't choose that part of it. And I want to get out. And I?—"

The words stick in my throat. I should tell her that I'm sorry I dragged her down with me. But I don't want to lie to her. I wish that it hadn't turned out like this—but I can't feel sorry for the time I've gotten with her.

"We should probably head back." Charlotte shifts next to me. "Unless you actually brought me out here to get rid of me and leave my body in the woods."

She's joking, but I feel cold wash through my veins at the thought of anything happening to her. "I would never hurt you." I turn to look at her, my expression serious. "I would never hurt you, and as long as I have anything to do with it, I'll do everything in my power to make sure no one else does, either."

Charlotte laughs softly. "I was joking. But you did want to pretend to hurt me, at least. Remember what you told me as Venom? About chasing me through the apple orchard in a mask, and pinning me down in the dirt?"

My entire body tightens. I do remember, and it's a memory that's half pleasurable, half one that I hate, because it's a reminder that my relationship with Charlotte started with lies. "This isn't exactly an apple orchard."

"No, but you could chase me through the woods." She smirks at me, and I can't tell if she's being serious, or teasing. Either way, it isn't funny. Not to me. Not when I feel like this is some way of her testing me, using the fantasies we shared with each other at one point as a way to dig that knife in deeper.

"I don't want to talk about that." I turn away from her, glancing back up the path. I might not want to talk about those fantasies, but my body is aching at the thought, my cock stiff in my jeans just from the memory of that conversation with Charlotte.

She's quiet behind me. I start to walk, and I hear the rustling as she follows me, catching up on the path. I can feel my nails biting into my palms, where my hands are still shoved in my jacket, as I fight the urge to touch her. Sometimes I think I can still taste her on my lips from kissing her at the motel, right after she stole my cigarette.

Sweet and acrid all at once, just like this thing between us. Something I want so desperately, something that has felt like, every moment, that it's the only good thing I've ever really had.

And I can feel her using it as a weapon. Turning it back on me, to remind me that it was all strung together on a web of lies, one that she wants to punish me for.

I deserve it. That thought rattles around in my head, the entire walk back to the car, the autumn color somehow dulled by the fact that we're leaving this place. I wish I could stay here forever. I wish I could stay here with her .

But I've hurt her, and now she wants to hurt me in return.