Chapter 10

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Never kiss and tell.

Briar

"You kissed him," Chip says, or yells over a gunshot, rather. We're at the gun range on Rosanera property, chatting about life and distractions per usual. "I can't believe you kissed him."

In my defense, he was acting completely kissable. All the same, I hadn't planned to kiss him yesterday, and I don't know exactly what I'm going to do about our "date" tomorrow. It is very much a front with layers upon layers of purpose—none of them meant to be legitimately romantic.

Will I be able to concentrate on the very important matters at hand?

Ha. I mean, of course. I'm a professional.

A professional who unprofessionally kissed her mark because he was being unprecedentedly kissable.

Leaning against a wall divider in Chip's lane—which his obnoxiously big body swallows whole—I fiddle with a lock of my hair. "I, too, am astonished by this turn of events. Why didn't you warn me that men could be, you know, attractive and whatever?"

Chip glances at me, a single judgy brow raised. "Should I be offended?"

"Does Lace love you with all her heart and soul?"

His already large chest puffs as a bright, full grin overwhelms him. "Yes, she does."

"Then do any of my opinions concerning your appeal matter?"

He shoots three times in rapid succession, taking near the entire head off his humanoid paper target. "Nope!"

My eyes roll, and I extend my hand for his gun. After he delivers it, I cut out the paper doll's heart.

"Speaking of my glorious wife, does Lace know about this yet?"

"She asked me if he was on drugs." I return the gun.

Chip pauses after he pops the magazine to refill the bullets. "The man was remarkably twitchy when he left our meeting room. Put his car in reverse instead of drive and nearly hit a tree, too."

"Lace never assumes nice things when weird stuff happens. It's always drugs or alcohol."

Chip's head tilts as he lines up a shot. "My poor socially inept little wifey."

"She'll have your tongue if she hears you say that."

Chuckling, he peers sidelong at me and lets the echo of a shot fill the space. "She'll have my tongue how? In the same way you had Mr. Veleno's yesterday?"

Like little traitors, my cheeks heat. "Please. It was barely a peck. On a more important topic, is everything set up for the mission tomorrow?"

"You mean your date?"

"I mean the vitally important mission in which to gather heart-stopping, life-destroying intel on a certain Jerk Face McGee." I cross my ankles and pop my fingers in the tiny pockets of my leather pants. I've been wearing a lot of fluff and tights lately. Maybe that's why I kissed Rowan. I was feeling feminine.

"So you mean your date." Chip smirks. "Yeah, it's all set."

"Cool. Thanks."

"How does the whole sharing saliva thing impact the rest of your plans?"

"First of all, we didn't share any saliva—it was a closed-mouth kiss, hardly a brush. And second of all, it changes nothing. If anything, I'm ahead of schedule where his emotions are concerned. The physical intimacy will cement thoughts of me in his head every moment we're apart. He's touch-starved and desperate for something loving. Any perceived affection is going to do a number on his damaged soul. He'll trust me blindly before the sun sets tomorrow."

"Monster," Chip states, running his fingers through his hair. Trickles of concern highlight his hazel eyes as he opens his mouth again, but whatever he was thinking fades. Sighing, he puts the safety on and removes the magazine as he turns toward the exit. "What are you going to wear?"

"Is pink going too far?"

"Yes."

"Then pink."

Chip shakes his head, and my boots click along behind him as we leave the gun range settled near the armory building beyond the central manor I call home.

As we exit into the night, I dread the walk almost as much as I dread the return.

Home has always been full of people, family, all throughout my childhood. Despite that, it's felt so…empty these past few months. Even with dozens around every corner, even with summer in full swing, it's so cold these days.

Moonlight breaks through the treetops as we walk among fireflies. My limbs weigh more with every step, and memories make it so hard to breathe.

To escape the thoughts overwhelming me, I say, "Do you think Rowan has a tattoo?"

"Yup. Bet it's a tramp stamp."

The idea alone makes me giggle. "I'm using that."

"Haven't you tortured the poor guy enough?"

"Nope," I chirp. "Never. Come on, Chip. He almost drove into a tree after the tiniest kiss. He's the most fun I've had in…" Months. My mirth mellows, and I bite my cheek.

Chip stops, turning toward me as clouds cut off the moon. Darkness swells between us as he releases a slow breath. "Oh…honey."

It hurts to swallow. "It's fine. I'm fine."

Without question, he pulls me into a hug, crushing me against his chest. The sweet, full scent of roses battles to ease the ache. "You know, you—"

"It's fine," I repeat, harder. Pushing out of his arms, I fight back tears.

It is fine. I'm fine. Everything will be fine. My philosophy demands it. In a dark world, even the darkest parts, light finds a way to make the most of the worst things. Whatever happens I will keep moving forward. And I will be fine. Sniffing, I ask, "Does Lace have as much fun with you?"

Chip stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Actually, we have something called a healthy relationship. Ever heard of it?"

"Sounds weird. Does it involve mutual understanding, genuine care, and open communication?"

"Yes."

I let free a low whistle. "Twisted."

"Exactly the opposite."

My nose scrunches. "Boring, then."

Chip's eyes roll as we continue down the walk. Once we've made it back, he gets the door for me, and distant laughter from one of the common rooms underlays the sound of a TV. Someone yells for someone else to pass the popcorn. A soda can fizzes open.

Every single person within the walls of The Giungla would take a bullet for me. No questions asked. That kind of loyalty goes beyond the pledge they made to my parents and, recently, the pledge they renewed with me. It goes deeper than fealty or a code of honor among criminals.

My Papa and Mama taught me too well how to endear myself to others in ways that consume their waking thoughts.

Their methods seep from my pores, as simple as breathing.

And those methods? They're twisted.

In a world starving for kindness, everyone is begging for a place to belong. If you offer someone your hand and fulfill their basic emotional requirements, they'd rather die than lose their place at your side.

People are fragile. And that's why they're so easy to manipulate.

It's not at all hard to wind up so surrounded, yet so entirely alone.

Saying goodnight to Chip, I head to my room and get Cupcake out of her cage before lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. She explores the dips in the comforter around my body, moves over my stomach, down my leg. The weight of her slick scales running against me soothes something tight in my lungs, but it doesn't make all the pain go away.

I don't think anything ever will.

So, I graze my lips with the back of one knuckle and sigh.