11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

W e had several theories, all of which were discussed within the confines of Henry's as we awaited Colton's potential return. Claire thought that he had found a place to hide within 2D, and Liam and Zoey agreed. I brought up the possibility that he found another exit from the apartment, perhaps via a window, despite the space being on the second floor, and Cassie wordlessly nodded. Luke bitterly rambled with gumption that Colton's personal road to redemption could have led him to be in cahoots with the police, and Colton could have placed evidence directly in the cop's hands along with the mention of all of our names. His scorned viewpoint was quickly dismissed upon Claire's stern reminder that Colton was currently, in her words, ‘fucking missing,' and that he hadn't, ‘waltzed on out of 2D skipping and holding hands with the cop.' Furthermore, we rewatched the camera footage and realized that neither Mister Milkovich nor the policeman were carrying a laptop upon their exit .

Our back and forth nervous ponderings eventually petered out, and regardless of how adrenaline coursing through my veins had forced me to be alert, exhaustion hovered over me in a heavy cloud, and my eyes felt as though they were bleeding. Even the dim bar lighting burned my retinas as we occasionally glanced around our usual table seating. Purse-lipped, defeated looks were all we exchanged with the exception of when I would look at Cassie. Her dark gaze was guarded, our eyes would linger for far too long, and she would break our contact with a rapid downshift of her head time and time again.

Over an hour had passed by the time that we all decided to call it for the night or, rather, the early morning, and we all said our adieus because there was nothing to do at this point other than wait. Liam offered Cassie to sleep on his couch due to the questionable condition of the roads. She insisted that her Jeep would make the short trip with ease, and he argued with her for but a moment before Zoey nudged him with her elbow and gave him a curt shake of her head. Cassie set off, and I watched her as she trekked through the snow back to her vehicle—she didn't bother to look back as she went on her way.

It was when I had returned to my own abode, sitting on my couch without having even taken my snow-soaked boots off, that I realized the similarities between this very moment and the one from months ago. The one after Peter was no longer. The one when I had raced to Cassie's house so we could simply exist in one another's presence and not be alone. The thought made my pulse race—not because of the skin crawling, stomach sinking feeling of the memory of Peter that would never die. Not because I was thinking of her, though I most certainly was. Because this moment, as similar as it was to the one that I tried to push out of my brain, was so different.

Of all the reasons that I had yearned to be around Cassie—the simple companionship in the face of terrors past, the itch to know her… really know her, and the thought of all things steamy, hot, and unattainable— this was the worst. The threat of potential evidence being outed regarding Zoey's stalker's murder wasn't gone in the least. It wouldn't be unless Colton turned up and whatever he found was inevitably destroyed, incriminating or not…and because that had now turned into a waiting game, I was entirely focused on his reasoning for being in Salem. The idea that Cassie was linked to women who have gone missing and could potentially become one of them herself was tearing me up from the inside out.

It was a disjointed thought. I mean, for all we knew, her work was a perfectly fine place of employment despite anything we had heard from Colton, but the nagging thought of her reality being tied to his with an invisible string was gnawing at me. Truthfully, I knew nothing for certain, and neither did she…but I had felt her nervousness earlier, and that made the idea feel real. So very, very real.

And it was because of that that I was only sitting for approximately five minutes before I stomped right back out into the cold, praying that my car would muster the drive. Just like earlier, when Luke had called, I hadn't even bothered to grab a jacket or my glasses. I just left. I drove sitting on the tip of my tailbone, peeling my eyes to follow the road that was obscured by the storm. With each gentle turn making my tires spin out from beneath me, the drive was slow with my grip on the wheel white-knuckled, but it was all pushed out of my mind the second that I arrived.

The alarm on my phone went off as I pulled up to the left of her Jeep. The sound of a gently played piano rang throughout the car, and I let out a ragged exhale because that noise was typically the start to my day. From Monday through Friday, the quiet tune would wake me at six o'clock on the dot. It called to me now as if this morning were no different, and I groaned an exasperated:

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

I quickly removed my cell from my pocket, dismissed the alarm, and opened the door to be greeted with a brisk, icy breeze washing over me. I shook my head, wiping the snow from my face and leaving a damp trail in its path, and before I was even able to shut the car door, I saw her.

The light from inside her home illuminated her porch. She was barefoot despite the cold, standing just beyond the several inches of snow that had already piled high. A baggy orange t-shirt draped over her body to her upper thighs, black shorts peeked out just below, and she had let her hair down. With her messy bun having left the long strands kinked and frazzled, the air condensating in front of her with every exhale, and her eyes wide as she watched me, her expression was one of shock mixed with something wild.

I took slow, purposeful steps through the snow, and it wasn't until I halted directly in front of her that she asked:

"What are you doing here?"

The question was quiet, but it was as if she were hooked up to a goddamn microphone.

I replied, "Ignoring my alarm that's telling me to get up and get ready for work."

"And why are you doing that?"

"Because I'll have, like, maybe half a brain to use since I haven't slept much. And that half a brain is thoroughly occupied."

"With?"

"With?" I repeated the word incredulously. "With? Women are going missing at your work! "

"We don't know that," she replied in a clipped tone.

I asked with a heavy weight, "Did the MIA girls come back?" Cassie pressed her lips together tightly, and I stated definitively, "Yeah, I'm coming inside."

She stepped to the right to block my path. "For what?"

Sleep deprivation and stress from the reality of the now had burrowed under my skin tonight—that was certain—and her accusatory tone made the bugs that had settled to roost come alive.

I snapped, "The fuck do you mean, for what?"

Cassie crossed her arms, dismissively replying, "You should go home, Jay. Get some sleep."

"Sleep," I scoffed. "The fact that you think I could just go home and sleep right now is hilarious."

"Jesus," she sighed, looking to the porch ceiling before placing her dark gaze on me. "Fine. I'll bite. Why won't you be able to sleep?"

"I— fuck, Cassie, I'm sorry…but that question is asinine." The cheerful ringtone on my phone went off once more, and I frustratedly smacked the outside of my pocket three times to silence the alarm. It somehow worked, and I repeated what we knew with purpose, "Women are going missing. Your work may be a place that is compromised with that, and the one man," I thrust an index finger toward her face, "that we know of who can give us more information on that is presumably on the fuckin' run."

"This is my shit, Jay," she retorted. "As much as I appreciate you covering for me at Henry's, you are not involved in my shit. If Colton comes back, you can just send him my way."

I barked out a bitter laugh. "Oh, okay. Sure. I'm not involved…and neither is anyone else!" I exclaimed, throwing a hand out toward the abyss of snowy dawn behind me. "No one else that we know— none of our family— is aware of any of your shit. And y'know what? That would have been fuckin' fine. Completely fine—you don't want anyone else who's close to you to know about your work? Cool. Great. Grand. But guess what, Cas? I know. It's not a secret to me, and I'm not gonna sit on my ass and ignore all the shit that we learned about tonight."

"What do you wanna do right now, Jay?" she asked sharply. "Barge on into my house, sit down, and have a nice little chat about all the potential fuckery that could go down with whatever Claire's ex said that he's involved in?"

"No," I returned. "I don't want to talk about any of that shit. I'd just go in circles about it all, and I don't—we don't know enough, anyway. Not right now."

"Then what?" Cassie asked, her face pinched in exasperation. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

"I'm here for you!" I yelled.

"God dammit, I don't need you to be here! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"

"I'm well-the-fuck-aware that you don't need me here. I have the feeling that you haven't needed anyone but yourself for most of your life." My words seemed to have stunned her, her head bobbing back for a quick moment as her mouth clamped shut. Her gaze stayed glued on me, and I took a breath to steady myself. "When I say that I'm here for you, I mean that I need you." I placed a hand on the center of my chest and stated, "I need to be around you— not the other way around. I need the tangible. Proof. That you're okay and that you're not…not missing like these other women."

Her defensive demeanor suddenly left her, her arms hung at her sides, and the hardened look in her eyes softened.

Cassie whispered, "Oh."

"Look…I am… fried. Everything that's happened in the past few hours has been a lot." I exhaled heavily. "I'm cold. I'm tired." Cassie's brow pinched together sympathetically, and I concluded softly, "I care about you, and I'm worried. Please…for the love of all that is holy…let me inside, Cas."

As quietly as they had exited my mouth, the last few words still felt like they came straight from my chest.

Cassie took a single step forward to softly wrap her arms around my waist, tucking her head into the crook of my neck. The act was so unexpected that for just a moment, I froze. My hands hovered in the air in a split-second hesitation, and her grip on me tightened. Her nose nuzzled along my neck, her forehead dropped to my collarbone, and when my brain fully recognized what was happening, I returned her embrace. I pulled her close, one hand on the back of her head and the other around her waist, and I squeezed as I rested my cheek against her hair.

It warmed me despite the weather blustering around us, for the hold she had on me was unexpectedly gentle. Vulnerable, even— raw. I found myself holding my breath because I knew that the moment would be fleeting. I didn't know for sure, but it appeared that Cassie may have been doing the same for her body was still with the exception of her fingers that would occasionally flex against my back. She did so one last time, finally drawing in a long inhale that forced her shoulders to rise, and she let it out against my neck. I breathed similarly in response, and she murmured :

"You really mean all that, don't you?"

"I really do."

My response came out raspy, and her grip tightened on me. Cassie looked up, her pretty brown eyes locking on me, and I knew that a quick tilt of our heads or a flex of my grip in her hair could pull her lips to mine. I could feel the heat of her face. Taste her breath on my tongue. The feel of her kiss from just hours ago had made me throw any concerns of my feelings for her into the wind, and I yearned for it once more, but because she had told me to forget, I ushered the thought away.

Her grasp on me loosened, and with a tiny tug on the front of my shirt, she said, "Come on," tipping her head to the inside in a quiet invitation.

I followed her in, and the first step that I took onto her tile made my boots squeak and my feet slip out from underneath me. I spun to the right, the arm of the couch breaking my fall so I didn't tumble ass-first onto the floor, and I cursed under my breath at the sensation of twinging muscles in my back.

I grunted, rotating gingerly to test my range of motion, and muttered, "Ouch."

Cassie was watching me with her arms crossed, no more than three steps away, with high brows and a questioning expression .

"You alright?"

She retraced her path before me to the entrance, doing what I had planned and shutting the front door for me. Her wrist flicked as she quickly turned the deadbolt, and she glanced back at me with inquisitive eyes, for I had yet to answer her question.

I stretched my spine upward, twisted slowly to the left and then to the right, and replied, "All good."

Cassie pointed to the floor. "Slippery when wet. Take your boots off unless you're trying to throw out your back."

"Right," I grumbled.

She turned an about face, and I watched her with interest as I did as she asked, touching my toes to my heels one by one to remove my boots. Directly next to the door that she had just locked was one of her wicker kitchen chairs. Cassie gripped it by the seat, dragged it across the tile to be situated in front of the door, and angled it to force the back of it underneath the knob. She jammed it into place, tested its strength with a quick wiggle from side to side, and turned back to me when she appeared to think its placement was satisfactory.

I must have had a skeptical look on my face because she threw a thumb over her shoulder, explaining :

"Makeshift lock from the inside. I have to buy a chain for the door or something." I nodded, somber that we had to even think of such things but thankful that she had the wherewithal to have done so. Cassie looked me up and down and asked, "Do you want to sit with me? I was trying to wind down when you got here."

She tipped her head toward the fireplace in front of the couch. It was just barely lit—too little to crackle and have called my attention previously, but enough for me to feel its slight heat against my shoulder—and a small stack of wood sat to its left. The table in front of it, which looked as though it could have been made from a cross-section of a large tree trunk, held a short glass that I knew for a fact contained Jack Daniel's.

"My, ah, brain wasn't turning off," she admitted. "Alcohol helps."

"Well, if you're gonna pour me a glass that big, we could use another log on the fire," I remarked.

Her lips pulled up in the smallest of smiles. "I'll be back, then."

While she bustled to the kitchen, I took it upon myself to tend to the fire. Situated in front of the cast-iron to protect the room from any errant spitting embers stood a three-sided standing screen. Grabbing the black fire poker that rested against the wall by the wood, I nudged the screen aside that was sure to be white-hot. With a precise drop of my hand so as not to burn myself, I laid another piece of wood into the flames. I adjusted it just so with the fire poker, the heat caught up to it quickly, and just as I was pushing the screen back into place, it let out a satisfying pop!

As I was leaning the fire poker back against the logs, Cassie quipped from behind me:

"You're gonna make me have to clean up more ash than normal, aren't you? You chose the biggest log. That's gonna burn for forever."

I turned to find her already sitting on the couch, watching me with a small smirk on her face and her glass cradled in both of her hands that rested in her lap. My own drink sat on the table in waiting for me.

"I'll stay up for a bit," I told her. "And I'll sweep up the ash in the morning."

"Just giving you shit, Jay," she spoke gently. Cassie gestured to the seat on her right with a tilt of her head. "Come sit."

I did as she asked, settling myself on the center cushion with my whiskey in my palms, and took a sip. She did the same, and we were quiet for a bit, watching the flames flicker and occasionally taking another drink. I eventually noticed her fingers tracing the edges of her glass in what appeared to be a nervous manner, and I nudged my shoulder with hers.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Looking to her hands, she murmured, "Ah, my thoughts… there's a lot goin' on up there. Does the phrase this shit's fucked cover it?"

"No." I smiled a bittersweet smile. "It doesn't."

"I…" she hesitated, "learned a lot tonight."

The knowledge of Claire's history and how it had impacted the remainder of our group was a tale to be told, indeed—and she had only gotten the abbreviated version.

"That you did," I replied. "Are you asking for the full story?"

"No." She laughed without humor. "God, no. Y'know, I normally like details, but, ah…" Cassie waved her hand around her forehead and then allowed her arm to relax once more. "Like I said, my mind's a bit full for the moment."

"Yeah, mine's like that, too," I murmured.

She seemingly thought to herself for a beat. The fire crackled, we both took another small sip, and then she asked, "Do you ever feel like you're stuck in between?"

I felt my brow pinch together. "How do you mean? "

"Like the world is gearing up for something and you can—you can feel it. You can feel the shift…but it's not quite there yet. So…you're just waiting. Stuck in between."

I hummed in acknowledgment. "I think that's called purgatory."

She disagreed, "Pretty sure that's the waiting room between heaven and earth. I'm talking about one that's between two hells."

"Yeah…" I begrudgingly said, "I know the feeling."

"I don't know if there's a word for it. I'll call it purgatory, but it's…it's not that." She blew out a rough breath through her nose. "I don't want there to be another hell, Jay."

The whisper of a sentence left her, and I felt its gravity. It sat on my sternum, heavy—dirty— sticky, and unable to be washed from me. Her voice had wavered on my name. It was so slight that I could have chalked it up to vivid imagination, hope, or sleep deprivation-induced auditory hallucinations…but I didn't. I knew it was there.

"It could be nothing," I reminded.

She admitted in a meek voice, "It doesn't feel like nothing to me."

"Me either."

The conversation itself was nowhere near romantic, but the intimacy was there. The closeness was there, and just like that, the topic of our respective worries withered away to nothing. They were still there in our minds—I knew they were—but they had been tucked away because we were stuck once again. In a routine played several times over, we were locked on each other in a slow-moving gravitation, and I breathed, long and slow.

She finally said, "I meant what I said before…about forgetting."

I knew that already, but hearing it was a kick in the gut. The reiteration made me want to turn my head—to look away from her—but I couldn't. And it appeared that neither could she.

"I know."

"Because we could be messy," she clarified.

I nodded. "I know."

"For several reasons."

"I know."

Cassie's eyes remained on me as she shifted forward to place her glass on the table. She snagged mine as well and set it beside hers with a quiet clunk, and she sat back on the couch, turning to face me fully with her legs tucked underneath her.

She whispered, "They're irrelevant, though…aren't they? "

It was the same word that I had used the night before to describe my hesitations toward her—her relation to Liam and Zoey, her profession, our age difference, though my concern on that was long gone — it was all irrelevant. My feelings—shit, her feelings—made it all irrelevant.

Her usage of it made my chest burn, realization sinking in at the purpose of the softness in her gaze, and I exhaled a quiet, "Oh."

"Thanks for joining me," Cassie murmured. "In purgatory, I mean."

The tipping point was placed between us, and the edge metaphorically scraped my feet as I balanced upon it. I lifted a hand to her cheek, tracing her freckles with the pad of my thumb, and the burn in my chest spread as she leaned into my touch. With all the honesty in the world, I told her:

"I'd be here in hell, too."

The warmth in her eyes told me that she knew that I meant it, but she still blinked twice, slowly, as if she were attempting to absorb the words.

"Good." Her voice was nearly inaudible. "I like you here with me."

I melted into the couch—my body remaining still as I relished the feel of her beneath my palm, but my mind oozing into a delightful goo that would never leave the fabric beneath me. My face turned hot as I realized that she was so close that her breath was mingling with mine, and though I'm sure it was wholly unnecessary to say, I muttered:

"Me too."

Cassie asked softly, "Is now when I say that I officially want to take back what I said?"

"About forgetting?" I muttered.

"Yes."

I laced my fingers into her hair. "Yes," I replied. "It is."

"Because I don't want to forget," she said in an exhale.

The mere sentence lit me up, sending a thrumming energy straight into my blood that made me squeeze my grip. She gasped quietly as I angled her head further upward with the guidance of my grasp, and, as if on cue, the fire crackled loudly.

"Kiss me," she whispered. "Please."

"Yes."

I brushed my nose against hers, she shuddered in response, and in a way that I had imagined several times over, I pulled her mouth to mine. To be honest, it was less rough than I had intended, for I wanted to kiss her with such force that I could feel my teeth press into the backside of my lips hard. Instead, the moment that I felt her against me, we both sagged heavily in relief, and our motions were deliciously soft. Cassie reached forward, fisting her hand in my hair, and pulled with a silent insistence to deepen our kiss. We did, tasting each other with patient touches of our tongues, emitting soft gasps and quiet hums of appreciation until our magnetism that I thoroughly hoped would never cease to steal my breath had escalated to sparks. Electricity. The word was simple enough, and I was certain that many before had used it to describe their attraction to another. This electricity, however, was stored in clouds that lingered above, primed to be released as lightning and set the scene around us ablaze.

Our movements rendered us shimmying for her to straddle me, grinding her hips over my cock that was forever hard at her existence and forcing profanities to fling from my mouth. She moved down to lick at the hollow of my throat, dragging her tongue up and biting just where my facial hair began. It elicited a moan from me, and she ordered:

"Take off your shirt."

Though she was the one who had asked, she completed the task for me, grabbing at the fabric and pulling it over my head. Cassie leaned back as she threw my shirt to the floor, raking her eyes from my abdomen up to my chest. She placed her hands on my stomach gently, and I immediately tensed .

"Ticklish, right?" she asked.

Her touch remained where it was, and I breathed out half a sigh of relief.

"You remembered. Please, don't scratch me."

Cassie hummed in acknowledgment, bending down and wandering with her lips. When she reached the crook of my neck, she whispered:

"What about this?"

I exhaled, "Yes." She sank her teeth into me just hard enough to leave a significant sting, and I arched into her. My cock throbbed, and I groaned, "Ah— I like that."

She kissed the area with an open mouth as if to soothe, sweetly questioning, "You like me biting you?"

"Yes."

"Mmm."

She trailed her mouth to where my tattoos began at the curve of my shoulder and back over my pectorals, continued to sink lower, and nipped at the first rib she came across. I writhed under her, my fingers flexing against the leather of the couch. It was delicate torture, watching her go further and further, gently catching my skin with her teeth wherever she pleased, and I was her masochist. Watching her. Craving more. My ribs, my waist, my hips just above my pants—she gave deft attention to them all. So much so that by the time she fully knelt to the floor and licked from the button of my jeans up to my navel, I was flexing my pelvis in anticipation, my voice rough and cracking as I cursed to the ceiling.

The button was yanked open, and the zipper pulled down. I aided her in removing my clothing down to below my knees, and she looked up from below, tracing her gaze over my length that stood at attention for her.

I expected more beautiful torture. Perhaps a trail of kisses along my inner thighs—a bite to the back of my knee—anything that was sure to make me squirm. Cassie didn't do any of those. She placed a single, chaste kiss on either one of my hipbones, wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, and sucked.

I threw my head back. "God, fuck!"

She took more of me, her saliva leaving me glistening as she slowly moved up and down. I felt the base of her throat with every iteration, and it was too much— far too much for me to simply watch. I itched to guide her mouth. To feel her jaw flex or her cheeks hollow as she pleasured me. I reached out, touching the edge of her face, and moved in time with her rhythm. Her dark eyes met mine, and the sight of her watching me—watching me watch her— with her mouth filled, my hand now gripped on her neck for guidance as I gently fucked her face…it was… fuck.

It was enough to bring me to the precipice of my own release, and I was not allowing that to happen yet. I wrapped my hand in the roots of her hair, tugged to usher her off of me, and with lips so wet that they were dripping, she smiled wide.

Christ.

I stretched my other arm to cradle the left side of her face as I pulled her up my body and yanked her mouth to mine. Her tongue was slightly salty, the evidence of my abundant arousal clear as day, and my chest nearly vibrated as I spoke:

"Fucking dirty girl."

I didn't give her a chance to respond. I tugged her top overhead, throwing it to only God knows where. I moaned at the sight of her bare breasts that looked as though they would perfectly fit in my palms, and, desperate to make her as needy and wanton as she had made me, I moved in. I licked across her chest, focusing on every curve, grazing my teeth in areas that I just couldn't resist. Her breath turned ragged, and her grip on the back of my head guided me to her nipples that I had pointedly avoided. I fought her, allowing myself to skim the area with the tip of my nose, only to place my mouth elsewhere.

"James," she complained. "Stop teasing me."

I looked up at her and simpered, "You want more of me? "

"Yes."

"Here?" I finally followed her touch and took one of her nipples in my mouth, dragging my tongue across it.

"Yes."

Smiling against her chest at her lust-filled tone, I grabbed her waistband.

"Here?"

"Lower," she breathed.

I kissed across her breasts, going where she led me, and licked her other taut peak as I reached under the fabric of her shorts and underwear. My fingers brushed against her smooth skin, and she shivered when I touched her where she so desired. I slid them forward and back, bringing her own lubrication up to her clit.

We simultaneously moaned—her, wordlessly, and me with a, "Fuck, you're wet."

Cassie rotated her hips, working herself against my hand as I wandered over her chest until she tugged on my hair to usher me upward. She kissed me voraciously, leaning her body into the motion, and with our tongues still tied, one of her hands left my scalp and pressed against her shorts where I was touching her underneath.

"In," she murmured against me.

"Mmm. "

I tested one finger, and it slid in and out of her on her own volition as she rode it.

She ordered, "Two."

I did as she asked, she let out an alluring high pitch on my lips, and her hand fell away. Cassie wrapped her fingers around the base of my erection, and I flexed my hips to rock in time with her motions. We moved like that, slowly increasing our speed until every panted exhale was a passion-filled groan, our kisses turned to attempted consumption of one another, teeth were clashing, lips were being bitten, the still-burning fire and our rapid motions left our bodies hot, and we were fucking each other's hands with desperation.

I wanted inside of her—to flip our positions and pin her to the cushions—to feel her squeeze around my cock as she rode out her own release—but escalating any further in that sense meant a conversation about birth control options. And we were both too far gone for that.

"You'll make me come like this," I rasped. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes. Fuck, I—I'm so close."

"Shit, Cas." My muscles began to contract, she rode my hand harder, and I followed her tempo. "Right—right fuckin' there, yes."

"James! "

She screamed my name, her head fell on my shoulders, and her pussy clenched my fingers hard. Profanity and nonsensical words alike, I shouted to the ceiling as I came, my face screwing tight while I ejaculated onto my stomach between us. Our motions slowed, her repetitive squeezing against my hand stopped, and when I removed my fingers from her, she placed a small kiss on my neck.

My heart was still hammering when I quietly spoke into her hair, "You okay?"

"Very okay," she spoke gently. Lifting her head and sitting back on my thighs to look at me, she traced the evidence of our sexual acts with her eyes from my groin to my chest. Gaze hooded, warm, and soft, Cassie leaned forward as if she couldn't resist returning, hovering over me to avoid the mess, and sweetly spoke against my lips, "Ya look good, Jay. Let me clean you up. Purgatory suits you."

I internally repeated the latter sentence to myself as she pressed her mouth on mine, and I smiled into her kiss, for I had never considered that purgatory could be a source of…happiness. Pleasure. Joy. An opportunity to bask in the now while I could for the unknown ahead seemed daunting.

Damn. Purgatory suits me.