Chapter Five

Reed

It's been three weeks with Mila living at my house. I taught her to shoot, the vital one-kill spots on a body, and I have her memorizing a chemical chart to help decipher what mixes the best explosives and what can be used to create a paralysis agent. All of which she has taken in with ease. Not once has she gone pale, called me a psycho, or backed down like I expected. Even physically, she is holding her own. If it wasn't for the three bullet-size, silver scars on her back, I would have never guessed she once had limitations with body movement. And if it wasn't for the cropped tanks and running on my treadmill in her sports bra, I never would have seen the scars. Every time I think of them and the creamy skin they are etched on, my heart has an extra palpitation. I get extra aggressive and my thoughts turn darker. If Rogue hadn't already taken out the people responsible, I would hunt them down and take care of them myself. This extra layer of protectiveness I've never had before keeps boiling to the surface, every time I see her dressed in a men's size t-shirt, while she sleeps wrapped in the blankets in my spare room. My breathing turns harsh when she parades around in her small summer dresses and rompers, and yes, she told me what they are called in my backyard. The arid summer air makes her skin pink and dewy, and I hate that I notice and my heart races.

But I notice everything about her. All the things I thought I knew before are slowly falling away. In order to keep my sanity, I'm in need of some space to process the way my body and my mind react to her. Which is why I took a job out of state tonight. I left after Mila went to bed. I snuck out of my own house, like a thief, and pushed my car to the main road, where I was finally able to fire up the engine. I felt like the criminals I hunt down, being so sneaky. The whole way across state lines to New Mexico, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I left something important behind, and the fact that it just might be Mila makes me frustrated. I shouldn't have to worry about hurting her feelings when I have more pressing matters to take care of.

I've never had someone waiting for me. Even when I started my little protection project in Minnesota, taking out the threats that were after us years ago, the family I grew up with never even knew I left the house, let alone what I did while I was gone. On nights I worked, or decided to see a football game, they never gave me a curfew. I don't know if it was because they didn't care or some other reason. Rogue placed me with them to keep me safe and it always felt that way, like that was all they were to me: my protectors. I don't remember any dinners Heidi, the mom, would make. Joe, the dad, didn't teach me to drive or to hunt. I learned everything on my own. All the memories from those days feel mundane. Gray and fuzzy around the edges. Unimportant incidences and interactions. I think that's why I like the way things are now. Everything is black or white. I get intel and I give it to Rogue. If they need me to find someone who got away, I take care of it. If I get information that someone knows about Rogue, I stop them before they can relay the message. It's simple and I don't answer to anyone. Then there's Mila. Even in her short time at my home, she's spinning everything in color and forcing her way into my life, to the point that I almost feel bad about leaving her out of things. Almost. It's hard to make room to think about someone else, to change years of structured behavior. My thoughts are confusing, but thankfully, they are interrupted when Ciaran calls my phone.

"Yeah," I bite out, not in the mood to talk.

"Just checking in." He huffs. "Mila sent a text to Kelly, but everyone is still worried. Have you heard from her?"

I bite my lip. "She told me she was fine." I hate telling a half-truth, but it would feel worse if I straight up lied to him. Ciaran isn't my boss or my superior, but he does work for Rogue and I respect what they do.

"Did she give you anything else? Her location or anything?" he questions.

"No." I let the word slip out. Technically, she didn't because she just showed up on my doorstep and her reasons feel too personal to be the one to share them. It's her story to tell, not mine to give.

"Okay, well, if anything like that does come up, let me know. Once we know where she is, I at least want to go see her to make sure she's good," he tells me, and I can hear the weight of his words. He expects me to rat her out if I find her location.

"I will," I tell him, even though it's a lie. "I'll also have an update on that new lead for you by tomorrow."

Ciaran chuckles. "It's never a dull day, is it?"

I stay quiet because I don't really know what he's expecting me to say. He and his family single-handedly run the largest safety organization in the country, except for the Witness Protection Program, and no one really trusts them because everyone knows they exist. So therefore, Rogue stays busy.

He eventually caves to the silence. "Thanks, Reed. Let me know how that lead turns out. Then we can organize and move in on the suspects."

"Copy that," I respond and hit end on our call. The minute the phone clips into the cup-holder, I turn it on silent. I don't want to know when Mila wakes up and finds out I'm gone.

It's late in the afternoon by the time I'm scrubbing my hands and cleaning up the mess. Thank fuck New Mexico has some barren areas, the perfect spot to dig a grave and not be seen in daylight. I should have slowed down and taken my time, but I'm painfully aware of the distance from my house, where I left Mila, is and where I am currently. She's alone and by now she knows I'm gone. I can't shake the unease that comes with those thoughts.

Once I collected the information about the group of school-age children being held in Colorado and waiting to be dispersed throughout the country, I sent the information to Ciaran. He had a team mobilized in twenty minutes. This was my messiest kill in a long time, but I don't feel bad about it. I know what he and his boss were planning for those kids, and if you ask me, trash like him deserves to have a run-in with evil like me.

I throw my clothes in the hole with the body and douse the evidence with gasoline before striking a match. Everything should be good and gone by the time any sort of fire or rescue get out here. I jump into the little Ford truck I borrowed from the last town I drove through and click the wires until it starts up. I quickly throw on clean jeans and a t-shirt before hightailing it out of the area. I put a half-hour worth of miles between myself and my latest project before I see another car on the road. I drive to the outskirt of town and wipe down the truck before stashing it. I'm feeling jumpy and not at all relaxed by the time I reach my Lucky Charm and grab the burner phone again. No new texts or calls. I flick open the messages, just to be sure, but Ciaran's still remains as the last one received. Shit. Mila hasn't even tried to contact me.

I fucking sigh, something else I've been doing too much lately, before jamming my keys in the ignition and driving onto the highway to head home. For some reason, my adrenaline is riding me harder than any other time, causing my fingers to flex on the steering wheel as I begin counting down the miles until I'm back home. This is not how it usually goes. I can't even enjoy the job I just did or the good that will come of it. All I can see in my mind is Mila's eyes staring at me, the slight swish of her hair gliding across her collarbone when she shakes her head. The next six hours are going to be brutal.

The house is almost completely dark when I get home. Only one light appears to be on in the kitchen. I grab my bag from the trunk and lock the car doors before heading inside. The clicking on a keyboard stops when the door behind me closes. With one last deep breath in, I walk toward the living area. Mila is sitting cross-legged on my couch, wearing one of my sweatshirts that looks like it's swallowing her whole. A pencil is sitting between her lips and an old-school road map is unfolded and spread out next to her.

"They still make those?" I cock my head to the side, focusing on the map and not the exposed skin on her shoulder.

Mila huffs and pushes her computer away. "I thought we were trying things out to see how it would go?"

I let my eyes get caught with hers and focus to keep my expression neutral. "You said you didn't want to do what I do. I had a job and it needed to get done."

Mila is on her feet, moving quickly toward me, her hands splayed out before I can blink. "And did you know that there were seventeen different state troopers in both states combined that you passed on the roads? The edge of an environmental park that you chose to bury the body in sees over sixty-thousand hikers and campers a year. I could have given you four other locations and at least three different back roads that wouldn't have added more than two minutes to your drive, if you had just consulted with me."

The muscle below my eye twitches, and I feel anger start to move in my veins. Only I'm not angry at her, I'm pissed at myself. I should know these things. My mind was already so wrapped up in Mila that I didn't give the details the proper attention they deserved. That is her fault though. She's in my house and in my line of sight at all times. And if I'm really being honest, I go to bed thinking about how her lips felt when I kissed her.

"I don't give a shit that you went on a job and had to kill some member of a child abduction ring. I'm mad that you didn't bring me, or at the very least, you could have filled me in, so I could have given you this information."

Her words slam into me, shocking the life out of me. Mila knows everything, she sees everything, and nothing is making her run away from me. If anything, she only gravitates closer to me. Like my darkness is a force pulling her in, giving her the chance to dance in the shadows where no one can see her. She has seen past the mask and wants to play with the devil. Little does she know, if she plays with the devil, she will end up in hell.