7. Memphis

CHAPTER SEVEN

memphis

I t was dangerous territory.

Asking him personal questions.

There was always a chance he’d flip that right back on me and ask about my world next.

Even with that risk, I still wanted to know. It was eating me alive. I should’ve just found what I could on him like I’d done with Jersey back in the day. I’d kept that knowledge from him for years. I should’ve been able to do that with Utah, too.

Except something about doing it to Utah felt uncomfortable, where I hadn’t even thought twice about it with Jersey.

It was absolutely a violation of Jersey’s privacy, and it probably would have destroyed any chance we would’ve had at trusting one another if he’d found out about it earlier in our working relationship. But that didn’t even come close to stopping me. Back then, the need to know what I was getting into ahead of time far outweighed the risk of Jersey deciding that he wouldn’t work with me.

With Utah, though, it felt like some form of betrayal. He felt like the kind of human who would just tell me what I wanted to know if I took the time to ask, and not giving him that chance to tell me himself seemed like it would hurt him. The process of getting to hear it from him felt like it was supposed to mean something all on its own.

I sure as fuck wasn’t any good at this. I spent way too much time thinking about everything.

Utah seemed like the kind of man who knew what he was doing with most things, though.

He seemed like the kind of man who’d quietly take me along with him to give me a chance to learn my own way through it with the knowledge that he’d be there if I needed to ask questions.

Because let’s be real. I always had questions and I always needed explanations.

Much like I’d managed to dive right back into my own thoughts to extreme depths after I’d just asked him for his life story.

“If you’re asking me how I ended up with our organization, I don’t think I make the list of people who were wronged and had no other choice, angel,” he said. “There’s no elaborate, messed up story of secrets and lies that left me broken and desperate for work. It’s simpler than that. I’m a dangerous guy because I can decide to turn off my attachment to humanity when it’s necessary, and I’m not cocky about it, so I’m the safe bet.”

“But they would’ve found you somehow, right? They do the recruiting. I’ve never heard of an Executioner seeking out employment with them.”

“I feel like maybe you want there to be a story that connects me to them in this devastating way to make sure that I’m in this with you. But I just don’t have one, Memphis. I watched my dad kill my mom when I was eleven. That pissed me off pretty royally, so I killed him. Spent some time in baby jail for it because the state thought they had a chance at fixing me. Then I was in and out of group homes. I bounced from playing fake family to fake family with fosters for a minute, but nobody wanted to keep the scarred teenager who killed his own dad and had already experimented with every drug under the sun, so I didn’t ever really have a chance at being adopted. Then I aged out. I did some sketchy shit along the way to make things work out in my favor, and it didn’t take long before word got around to whoever does the recruiting.”

I couldn’t begin to guess how long I sat in that seat with my mouth hanging open like an insensitive bitch, but by the timeI realized it, the truck was parked in front of a hotel, and he was looking back at me.

“Sorry,” he said and chuckled. “Not really what you wanted to hear before spending a night away from home trapped in the same hotel with me, right?”

When he reached for the door handle to get out of the truck, I reached for the hand that he’d left on the center console, and I squeezed it in both of mine.

“You wanted to help the kids with anxiety,” I said quietly. “The others in the group homes with you?”

He only nodded his head.

He didn’t bother explaining because, like he’d already said, he wasn’t cocky. He wanted to help those kids, so he did. There was nothing to explain as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t interested in being credited for his good deeds.

“ The scarred teenager, ” I said even more quietly because I was painfully aware that he didn’t just mean the emotional ones. “The ones on your back? Your chest?”

He closed his eyes for a second that time. “Neither of my parents were good people, but they weren’t stupid. They knew better than to beat their child somewhere that a teacher might see the marks.”

“Utah —.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he interrupted and squeezed my hand. “I decided years ago to just accept it for what it was. And then to let it go. Once my parents were gone and I was on my own, thinking about it that way was the only chance I would ever have at being able to just be happy.”

“You were eleven. Eleven .”

He laughed gently. “I won’t hurt you, Memphis. I’ve already lived my crazy and rebellious years. I’m shockingly levelheaded now. You can be in this hotel and on this trip with me and still be safe. All the dangerous pieces of me will only be used to protect you now.”

I still had so many questions. Still wanted so many explanations. I wanted every story of those years.

Something in the pit of my stomach, where the most terrible feelings swirled to life, told me that there absolutely was a connection to his early years and our organization, but he was so fucking young.

When he forced his hand free from mine, I could only assume that meant he wasn’t particularly interested in diving further into this conversation just then. I grabbed my backpack from the backseat while he piled everything else from the truck bed on his shoulders. My body followed him into the hotel on autopilot.

I lived through some serious madness, but from what I remembered of them, my parents never even fought. They didn’t yell or get violent. There wasn’t a single mark on my body left there by my parents. I couldn’t even remember if they were the kind of people who believed in spanking kids, but something in me doubted it. Regardless, they damn sure didn’t murder each other in front of their children.

And he’d just fucking accepted that his life turned out that way and went on his way to find happiness ?

He had to be certifiable.

By the time I was paying attention again, Utah was holding a key card out in between our bodies.

“I’m in the one next door if you need anything,” he said.

I fucking nodded and watched him go to his own door.

Because I was certifiable myself.

Why hadn’t I said anything?

I could’ve thanked him for trusting me with his background. I could’ve told him that I was so impressed by his ability to just accept what was and leave it in the past so he could have a life separate from all the bad behind him. I could’ve asked what technique he’d obviously mastered where he had this ability to tap into that dangerous and disconnected part of him that allowed him to do our kind of work, but then to snap right back out of it whenever he wanted.

Anything.

I could’ve fucking said anything .

Instead, I’d nodded.

I leaned back against my door once it closed and tried to blow out all the air in my body.

I didn’t feel any better about the way we’d left that last encounter even after I’d showered and tried to physically wash it away.

I painted my fingernails.

And then my toenails.

I opened my computer, thinking I’d start on the search for the next Judge/Executioner team. After staring at the collage of pictures of Jersey and Trista, Indy, and Utah that made up my laptop wallpaper now, I closed it again almost instantly and went to the hallway.

I stared at Utah’s door for another few minutes before I worked up the nerve to knock. I already knew the man walked around in just basketball shorts once he was in for the night, so I kept my eyes on the floor when he opened the door.

“You okay?” he asked before he even had it open all the way.

“Yeah. I just—I—I don’t really know why I came over here.”

I forced myself to look up at his face just in time to see him try to hide a grin.

“Would you like me to close the door? Give you a chance to try again in a couple seconds?” He asked.

“Yes, please.”

He almost choked on the laugh he was trying to hold in while he really did close the fucking door. I shook my head at my own dumbassery and tried to breathe.

The all-out smile on his face when that monster opened the door the second time was so much worse.

“I kind of expected you to be gone,” he laughed. “Figured you’d take that chance to run and hide.”

I took a deep breath and tried to focus. “Utah, I’m really sorry that I just sat there like a statue after you told me about your childhood. I’m sorry your parents were assholes. I’m sorry you were in a position where murder felt like the only way out for you.”

His smile faded a little more with each word out of my mouth, and I started to think that maybe I could ask him to close the door another time to try again. Then I really would run and hide like he’d suggested.

“Come on in here, angel.”

He stepped off to the side to let me walk by and into his room.

“I’m really not afraid of you either,” I said quietly. “I’m not worried about being in this hotel with you.”

The logical side of me knew there was absolutely no chance that Utah would hurt me, but I was very much afraid of the other ways that he was starting to feel dangerous to me.

My eyes usually focused pretty hard on the muscle that covered the man’s top half, but when he walked by me that time, I could only see the scars. I couldn’t begin to guess what he’d lived through while he was so young if all of those scars came from the time before he killed his father.