Chapter Nine

I wake the next morning to the sound of a familiar voice drifting from the first floor. Aggravated, I brush my teeth while doing a once-over in my shorts and tank to make sure I'm covered. It's the addition of the second voice that has me taking the stairs two at a time. When I enter the kitchen, I'm struck by the sight of Tobias, suited and flawlessly polished, the scent of his freshly applied cologne the first thing to invade my nostrils before I lay eyes on Jeremy. He's busying himself by unwrapping a new laptop when he spots me and cracks a wide grin.

"Hey, you, been a minute." He darts his eyes back to his task as I cock my hip next to the counter and stare a hole through the side of his head. My thirsty eyes drink in his familiarity, and all it does is make my heart ache. His man beard has grown a little longer in the eight and counting months since I'd last seen him, and he's sporting his usual attire of dark jeans and suspenders over his T-shirt. Pinstriped suspenders I found at a thrift store and bought while shopping because I thought of him and considered him a friend. Late-night conversations between the two of us spring to the forefront of my mind, but I bat the emotion away and let my resentment take a front seat. Ignoring the amber eyes combing me, I make my way to the coffee pot and click on the small TV on the counter to catch the last of the morning news.

It's when I go to add my sugar that I find the box is empty. Tossing a glance over my shoulder, I don't miss the simper on his lips before Tobias lifts his mug, and I narrow my eyes at him.

Jeremy darts his gaze between us over the laptop he's just powered up. "I see you two are getting on well."

We both glare in his direction, and his chuckle is unmistakable. Temper flaring, I turn and open the cabinet above the pot and spot another box of sugar on the second shelf, just out of my reach. Lifting on my toes, I try in vain to grab it when I feel Tobias approach behind me.

"I've got it," I snap, pulling a spatula from the drawer and using it to hook the box before jerking it toward me. It gives easily, smacking me square in the face. Nose burning, I'm on the verge of exploding when an infuriating rumble sounds from Tobias's throat just before he steps away. Shrugging off my embarrassment, I prepare my coffee and ignore them both, keeping my eyes on the screen. Jeremy speaks up a minute later.

"How you been, Cee?"

Elbows on the counter, I lean in and turn up the volume.

"That mad at me, huh?" I can sense when they exchange a look behind me. I couldn't care less. But the burning at my back lets me know I may be revealing a little more skin than I should. I glance over my shoulder to see the source of my discomfort. Head cocked, Tobias is looking at me peculiarly before he darts his eyes to Jeremy.

"We good?"

"I mean, he only showed me how to do this once, but..." Jeremy glances my way, and I know who he's referring to. They're worried about the security of the laptop.

They share another wordless look as I go back to my coffee and pretend to watch the news. A few keystrokes later, Jeremy speaks up.

"I think we're good."

"Think or know ?" Tobias replies in an unforgiving tone.

Jeremy sighs with exasperation. "It would help if you let me—"

"I'll figure it out," Tobias snaps.

"Too proud to reach out to your own brother, huh?" I say, with my back turned.

More silence.

"How is he these days, Jeremy?"

A pregnant pause. "I wouldn't know, Cee."

"Sure, you wouldn't."

A second later, I feel Jeremy beside me. I can't look at him. I can't let him see that his mere presence is weakening me. "We miss you, you know?"

"Do you?" I sip my coffee and swallow, unable to hide the bitter edge in my voice. "Nice suspenders."

He thumbs them in my peripheral. "You know they're my favorite."

"Good to know you give a shit about something."

"I do care about you." His sigh comes out more like a grunt of frustration. I'm sure his boss is staring right at him, a clear threat just feet away. He's tap-dancing between an apology for me and certain punishment. It doesn't seem like any of them are brave enough to go head-to-head with this asshole.

"Don't worry about me. You haven't in eight months."

"Come on," he argues, "you know we couldn't—"

"Want to know how I'm doing?" I turn my head and glare at him. "Well, you can relay to Sean I now know exactly what happens to caged birds."

"We're good," Tobias snaps at Jeremy, his intent to end our exchange clear. "I'll get with you later."

Not long after, the alarm beeps and Russell's voice sounds out from where he calls from the front door. "Hey, man, we have to open up in twenty. Mrs. Carter wants her shit checked out first thing this morning."

He's talking about the garage—a place I used to consider a second home. It's unreal what time and distance can do. It now seems like a lifetime ago. It takes some effort to keep from turning the corner and laying eyes on Russell. But I don't because he doesn't seem the least bit interested in seeing me. Maybe it has everything to do with Tobias and his menacing presence.

But it doesn't matter. These men aren't my friends. They're in on secrets I'm not privy to. Where once I belonged, now I'm just a liability.

"See you around, Cee," Jeremy says from by my side, but I don't look his way. I don't utter a word. And I can feel his disappointment before he turns and leaves.

I turn up the TV to drown out any conversation with Tobias. I'm relieved when he busies himself on his laptop. A few minutes pass before he pauses his keys when the anchor speaks up with a breaking bulletin.

"Last night, a known terrorist leader was killed in a successful operation led by the US Military. Shortly after the news broke, the target was portrayed by a major media outlet as an ‘Austere Religious Scholar' leaving some Americans outraged, who have started to voice their objections on social media—"

"Bullshit!"

"Bullshit!"

Our shared reaction has me turning to Tobias, who stands equally as perplexed on his side of the counter. He runs a hand down his face in frustration as I turn back and click off the TV. We stand in silence for a few seconds before he turns and tosses his coffee in the sink. "This is fucking terrible."

"I agree; since when is it okay for reporters to humanize terror?"

"No, the coffee. You need a French press and a decent grind."

Baffled, I stare at his back, his shirt a light blue, fitted perfectly to outline his broad frame.

"Well, you've spoiled your French tongue. I'm sure you had a plethora of tastes to choose from."

He turns his head, before placing a palm on the counter and facing me with a cocked brow. "Are we still talking about coffee?"

"Of course, we are," I snap, perplexed. "And at this point, I'm surprised you haven't changed your address here for Prime Delivery."

His light chuckle fills the kitchen. I wrap my hand around my waist as he scrutinizes me from where he stands.

"You truly do care about them."

I inhale a breath for patience. "I told you a dozen times already. Our deal wasn't even necessary. You're the one who gave me the card to play. I would have kept my silence with or without our deal."

He lifts one side of his mouth. "Can't be too careful. You know. ‘Hell hath no fury —"

I slash my hand through the air. "‘ A bird, unable to fly, is still a bird; but a human unable to love is an inexpensive stone .'" I retort dryly and walk to where he stands, setting my cup in the sink beside him before lifting my eyes to his. "Like I said, you're incapable of my kind of currency." It's then I feel the spike, and it's unavoidable. His eyes flame brighter with each passing second as we face-off.

"Endearment, adoration, devotion, warmth, attachment; also synonyms for love." I turn to head upstairs and he jerks my elbow, pulling me flush against him. Electricity pings between us, stunning me for several seconds. It's both lightning and thunder without warning. Between his striking physical attributes, the burn in his gaze and his mouth-watering smell, it's getting impossible to play immune. The intensity of my attraction keeps shifting. The more I try to deny it, the more it rears its ugly head.

"No more bruises, please, I have a shift tonight."

He lessens his grip. "You bruise too easily. You think I don't understand you?"

"You don't know me."

He dips, his breath hitting my ear. "I know you." He brushes the loose hair away from my shoulder, and I'm barely able to control the shiver that slight touch induces. "And you're afraid of just how much I do know." He lifts a finger and runs it faintly along my collarbone. "You think it's love, but the truth is, you're an addict." He slowly trails the pad of the same finger up my throat before brushing it lightly across my lips. The shift in intensity is jarring as my limbs begin to tingle with awareness. "You're high right now. And that's all your currency is: a high ." I jerk away from him and he crowds in, his eyes trailing from my pumping chest back to my lips before he steps away, collects his laptop, and strides out of the kitchen.