Chapter 8

EIGHT

Adrenaline courses through my veins, my pulse a drumming thud as I walk down the long hallway, trying to maintain a quiet yet fast pace. Not that I think Brett will be waking up anytime soon. I made sure to inject him with enough sedative to down a Clydesdale. A small part of me almost feels bad. The poor guy didn’t see it coming, but the look of utter confusion on his chiseled face when the needle pricked his skin was priceless.

Tip toeing my way to the double doors of the library, I pause, peering over my shoulder, making sure no one is watching me. I’ve waited too long for this moment, and I swear if Colson does anything to jeopardize this, I will have no issue slicing his pretty inked throat. For his sake, he better stay the fuck away from me.

With the coast clear, I lower one of the handles on the door. A pit opens up in my stomach, gnawing at my insides. The squealing of the hinges was louder than I expected. It’s too risky to open the door any further, so I angle myself enough that I can slide in and once inside, I leave the door ajar to avoid making more noise.

The relief I feel is fleeting because once inside the grand library, the hundreds of books that line the tall shelves is overwhelming. A frustrated sigh breaks the seal of my lips because it feels like I’m searching for a needle in a haystack. From where I stand, I scan the shelves one by one with the hopes that something stands out, clueing me in to what I need. All I’m met with is alphabetized book bindings, all meticulously placed one after the other.

Inching closer to the shelves, I work my way from left to right, scanning every inch of every shelf hoping that something, anything, stands out. Minutes bleed into one another, making every second feel like hours as I continue my search with no sign of what I’m looking for. Defeat and dread begin to fester deep within my gut as I scan the room once more but it’s useless. I’m halfway to the door when a flash of bold crimson fills my periphery.

Turning around, my gaze is met with a book lying on its side, just out of reach, hiding in plain sight. I don’t know how the hell I missed it before, but I’m glad I see it now. Walking towards it, I notice it’s significantly smaller than the rest. My fingers graze the rough edges, expecting the pages to scratch against my skin, but as my palm curls around it, I realize it’s no book at all. It’s a box.

This has to be it.

A rustling sound echoes within the confines of the box as I carefully glide it off the shelf, exciting me with the very real possibility that the flash drive is in fact inside.

Curling my fingers on the small bronze latch centered on the side, I open the box. My heart skips before it sinks when I see not one but two flash drives, both labeled Demonio, along with a necklace. I debate taking the jewelry as well, but Carmine never mentioned anything about it, so I leave it.

Taking just the flash drives, I stuff them in my bra before replacing the box back onto the shelf. I move to the doorway with caution and crane my neck forward to make sure no one is around to see me slithering back out into the hallway.

Cluttered walls lined with paintings of influential Cromwells of the past and present—each as corrupt and evil as the last–fill my periphery the entire trek to the foyer.

My heels barely graze the marble floor in front of the tall glass entry doors when a thud echoes in the distance. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning them in the swarming heat of adrenaline. But I ignore it, extending my hand, readying myself to turn the knob, when the acrid scent of weed and cologne attacks my nostrils.

Of course.

“Well, if it isn’t my brother’s little pet,” Colson sneers from behind me. He meant it as an insult but the venom in his tone only heightens his jealousy. He walks past me and to the double doors, blocking them with his tall frame. He presses his back against the glass, creating an annoying barricade. “What’s the hurry, Sally?”

“No hurry, just leaving,” I quip, trying to look past him, but it feels impossible. He’s blocking the doorway, forcing my attention to his now shirtless body. My gaze lingers for longer than it should, taking in the wide expanse of his chest that has a large black and gray tattoo of St. Michael nestled between his defined pecs. Intrigue throbs at my center, admiring the way every stroke of painted art compliments his physique. This is ridiculous. How many men have I seen–and fucked–that have a chest piece? Why is it that I’ve suddenly lost the ability to blink or look away? Painfully self-aware of the way I’m gawking at him, and the smirk plastered on his face because of it, I try to signal my brain to have my eyes look away. But of course, my mouth takes the lead, moving faster than my brain is able to catch up with to shut it down. Words spew out of my mouth, my ears processing this all in sheer horror.

“Nice ink,” I word vomit, causing actual bile to rise, threatening my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that. Nice ink? What’s next? A ‘bro’ and a fist bump? I swallow the acid–and my pride–and shake my head in self-reprimand.

Get fucking with it Raiden, you are too close, literally steps away from checking this job off your agenda. There’s no time for this.

Peeling my gaze from his exposed inkwork, my vision becomes a victim to his low-slung gray sweatpants. This just keeps getting better…and worse. Shit, I can’t look away from the literal sea of raised, full veins that settle under the waistband of his sweatpants.

Fuck, I was right when I jokingly told Carmine that I bet he has a veiny dick to match the ropes on his forearms and hands. God fucking damn it. Now I really feel like I’m missing out.

His throat clears, stealing my attention to his eyes, which are no less captivating than his strong, inked, physique or those damn sea of veins that I want to get on my knees and lick one by one. But at least they don’t make my pussy throb – that much – or distract me, allowing me to engage with this forced conversation.

“So that’s what you were staring at huh?” he smirks. “Thanks, my guy Declan, who just got out of the clink is back at Oogie’s Ink,” he adds, as if I give a flying fuck where he gets artistically jabbed at. Except I do care now, we go to the same tattoo shop, which has the potential to be a problem seeing that it’s in Sleepy Hollow…where I’m currently living…and across the street from Satan’s Stiletto…where Carmine insists that I work in between assignments since he owns the place. Oh well, that’s something to worry about another time, right now I need to keep it moving.

“Riveting,” I clip, offering him a half-assed nod, taking another step forward when he stops me, this time with his hand grazing my arm. His barely there caress immediately sends a prickled current to my skin.

“You know, for someone who claims they aren’t in a hurry, sure seems like you are,” he points out.

Touché.

Ignoring the plague of goosebumps he’s inflicted upon my skin, I take another step forward, loosening myself from his touch. “I’m just tired and want to go home.” My voice thankfully comes off flat and unbothered, which is the total opposite of how I’m feeling inside.

“So soon?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s excited or disappointed.

Again, I nod, physically biting my tongue so I don’t say anything else that will delay my exit. Trying to keep my sights on the door, I take another step, but his laughter distracts me, pulling my gaze from the door to his gray irises.

“Where is home exactly?” he asks and I immediately shudder at the accusatory tone in his voice.

I’ve never had Brett pick me up from my house, let alone invited him to it. I don’t live here. I live as Raiden Ramos, in Sleepy Hollow. Them knowing who I am and where I live wouldn’t bode well for me.

Not answering, I try to take another step forward, hoping it will signal to him to get out of the way, but of course it only causes him to settle against the door further. Straightening my posture, I draw in a deep breath, trying to distract myself from the things my mind is fantasizing about at this moment, from the thoughts I’ve had since the moment I saw him for the first time, in the foyer right where we are now, except it wasn’t just him and me. It was a drunk Brett and a half-buzzed me, strolling in the door to find a shirtless Colson, standing there with a beer in his hand, eying me up like fresh meat…much like he’s doing now. Only difference is, this time we’re alone. And with Brett’s unconscious state it’d be so easy to indulge myself with Colson. Still, it’s too risky because something tells me he would be much more attentive than his brother, exploring every inch of my body. But with exploration leads to discovery and in this case, Colson discovering the flash drives I stole and all my tools I keep in my garter, would lead to even bigger problems, that I don’t have time for.

A throaty hum erupts through the silent air. “Earth to Sally.” He snaps his fingers before settling them at his chin, rubbing them like he’s amused, “I asked you a question. What, am I too much of an asshole…or how do you say it?…Oh, ben-day-hoe, to respond to?”

A deep and genuine chuckle rumbles in my chest. “First of all, it’s pronounced ‘pendejo.’ Second, I also called you pathetic on top of that…I heard you, I’m just not in the mood,” I add, trying to move around him, but he remains in my way.

“For me or for him?” he asks so matter of fact that it catches me off guard, and, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like he’s jealous.

“What’s the matter, Cole? Bummed that you’re my last choice?” I chastise, noticing the way his jaw clenches against the sting of my words. Even though he’s most definitely not my last choice –if I had a choice that is – because he is exactly my type. Sexy, arrogant, and smart…too smart. It’s one thing sneaking my way into Brett’s life, pretending to be something I’m not so I can get what Carmine needs, but Colson… if I were to try to fake things with him, he’d catch on. Even worse, he’d catch me and not let me go.

He pushes off the door, closing the space between us. I swallow hard when he lowers his head to hang above mine. “Are you sure about that?” he mutters.

I stand upright, trying to maintain a stoic front. “Positive,” I lie.

Taking another step forward, he lowers his mouth to my ear. His smoky scent invades my every sense, his warm breath traveling to my center.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers. Taunting me. Purposely trying to get me to crack. But the jokes on him, I’ve had years to practice a perpetual poker face and, no matter how charming he is, he won’t change that. He can’t.

“Move,” I demand, though my tone withers as he tips my chin upward, squeezing it in his warm, rough palm.

Raising his other hand, he motions for me to continue.

“Move what, Sally?” he reprimands.

I tilt my chin forward, rolling my eyes but it only tightens the hold he has on me. His long, thick fingers sear into my jawline and I let out a sigh that is equal parts exasperated as it is wicked. Pouting my bottom lip, I flutter my eyelashes obnoxiously. “Pretty please will you stop being a fucking asshole and move out of my way? With a cherry on top?”

A growl erupts from him. Adam’s apple vibrating with anger as he lowers his head. His lips hover over mine, so close that we are almost forced into a kiss, elevating the heat between my legs to a needy throb.

“The next time you insist on having cum spilled down your throat, ditch my brother and make your way to my room.” He smirks at me. “I want to see how pretty you’ll look with my cock filling that lying little mouth of yours.” He pauses, pressing his lips against mine in a tender kiss I don’t have time to react to. His grip tightens on my chin once more. “I’ll taste sweeter lingering on these soft lips of yours.”

Disgust rattles me as the wet warmth lingering at my center increases, breaking the barrier at the apex of my sex, as it drips down my inner thigh, sticky and abundant…just from his filthy words alone. The longer I stand here pretending I don’t want him, the more I feel myself unraveling. This is too tempting. He’s too tempting. I breathe, trying to signal to my brain to ignore the ripe need that’s attacking every inch of my body as I’m forced to deny myself of him. Now, I realize why Carmine assigned me Brett because Colson is too persistent. Too manipulative and skeptical…he’s too much like me.

I tear myself from his grip. Ignoring how I already miss being in the forced proximity of his hold as I step back, trying to get my wits about me.

“Thanks, but no thanks, there won’t be-” I stop myself from saying ‘a next time.’ I don’t want to be too obvious, though the way that his eyes are laser-focused on me, creating a deep crease in his brow, lets me know I might have already said too much.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I’m just a thin layer of sheetrock away when you’re faking it in my brother’s bed.” He winks playfully but it doesn’t remove the unease written across his face.

“Oh please,” I scoff.

“There she is, my little liar,” he sneers. His words are meant to be condescending, insulting even but I don’t know if it’s because he’s right – that I am a liar– or that I’m getting a preview of how mild degradation sounds from his lips directed towards me, but that pet name creates a literal inferno in my core. I can’t let him know that, of course. So, call it inspiration, but I lick at my lips before doing what I do best…lie. Feeding into his disdain for me while giving into my need to rile him up.

“You’re gross,” I spit, saying it loud and clear as a to signal my throbbing pussy to back off. We don’t have time for her right now. Not when the finish line is so close. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Finally, he steps aside, and I don’t hesitate a second as my hand reaches for the doorknob.  But just as I’m about to turn it, I pause, angling to face him.

“You know, you should try a butt plug instead,” I joke.

His brow furrows in confusion. “Huh?”

A grin splits my lips. “Oh, and maybe a vibrating one,” I add, reveling in the utter confusion on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

I’m about to open the door but he catches me in a tight grip on my wrist. Pulling me back into him, he holds me close. Closer than we were just moments before, but not as close as my body wishes we would be.

“I bet you’d like that,” he deadpans, a hint of a grin on his face. “Being that close to me.”

“To your asshole? I’ll fucking pass,” I laugh. Attempting to release myself from his hold, I step back, but as if we’re twisted in a tango, he follows my lead, tightening his grip, pressing me closer to his chest.

Clicking his tongue, he lowers his mouth inches from mine. His breath is a weird mix of hops and weed, a combination that should be putrid together but mixed with the musk of his cologne, it does more than permeate my nostrils and I can feel heat painting my cheeks.

His free hand finds my chin, tipping it so that our lips are even closer, practically kissing...again. I can feel his pulse against my skin just like I’m sure he can feel my heart thrashing at my chest. I don’t know why we keep doing this. It’s like when one of us wants to leave the other refuses to allow it. There’s nothing between us, aside from lust. Though the way lust can run rampant throughout the body, attacking the mind, consuming every thought, both waking and subconscious, I guess it can be just as dangerous if not more than love.

“Go ahead,” he pauses, puckering his lips before pulling them into a wicked grin. “I’m right here. I could be yours so easily.” His words are both a challenge and an invitation.

Inching my neck forward, I press my lips to his, just enough so that they graze his teasingly, but not enough to classify as a kiss. His knees buckle, his heart a raging storm thrashing about, waiting, begging to be unleashed, but he holds still, fighting it.

“What would your brother say?” I whisper, tauntingly.

He swallows. “Who fucking cares,” his tone, raw, possessive, delicious.

Allowing my tongue to break the barrier of my parted lips, my barbell flicks against the top of his mouth. Playing with him. Teasing him and if I’m being honest, torturing myself in the process. Another flick at his lip and I tug it into my mouth, heightening the tension between us.

“Hermoso culo,” I insult, loving how he can’t understand even the most basic Spanish. “You could cover that pretty face with a mask, threaten to chase me and punish me with what I’m sure is a big, pierced dick–my favorite by the way–and I still wouldn’t give in to you. Never.” My words sting my own throat as they leak their venom. It’s cold, but it’s the truth, or at least a truth I have to convince myself of. “Get the fuck off me before I stab your dick with my heels,” I threaten, expecting him to have some fiery retort, but he throws me off him, making me lose my balance.

I inhale deeply, refusing to look back at him as I reach for the door again. It whines at my touch, hinges squealing.

I’m a few footsteps out of the door when his deep rasp breaks the tension in the air.

“Never say never,” he says. It sounds like a threat but it’s too late. I have nothing left to say to him. Swallowing down the lies I’d been spewing all evening; I move into the night air and far away from his piercing stare.

I try to ignore it, but the more distance I put between us, the more tempted I am to get one last look at his face, even if it’s contorted with anger. One more glance won’t kill me. If anything, it’ll kill him, which makes it that much more fun. But instead, I resist, reaching for my phone to send Carmine a text.

Me: Got it.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Carmine: Excellent. Hold on to it, I’ll be in touch tomorrow to grab it.

Me: Yep.

Carmine: Now make sure you exit exactly like we discussed.

Me: Yep.

Carmine: Someone’s in a mood.

Me: I’m fine.

Carmine: If you say so. Remember, after tonight no more with him.

Me: No shit. Consider Brett forgotten.

Carmine: I’m not talking about him.

My heart sinks. He’s referring to Colson.

Me: He’s no one.

Carmine: Good, keep it that way. I have Blair set to pick you up where we discussed.

Me: What about Delilah?

Carmine: Delilah’s working.

Carmine: Good work, Ramos

Me: Thanks.

I need to keep it moving since Blair’s on her way, but the pull I have to turn around and see him one more time is so strong. Though still, I don’t. It will only make what I need to do next that much more difficult.

I take a deep breath and swallow the thick lump in my throat. Reality sets in. This is my job. Lying so much that I lose sight of who I am and what I want – and it’s what makes me excel at my job. And even though my lies are only used to take down those who hurt instead of help, it still takes a toll. Eventually, you begin to lie to yourself. Drowning in the very real consequences of what happens when you’re forced to lie to others, denying what you want, losing sight of who you are. Everything gets lost, when you sit down at the end of the day and peel the mask of deception from your face. It’s not freeing, it’s suffocating.

In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have to lie or deny the unfiltered, arguably unhinged chemistry that dwells between Colson and me, like a fuse begging to be lit. Though now as I round the corner past the long driveway and iron gates, waiting for Blair to pick me up so I can disappear, I feel that desperate flame diffusing, robbing us of the what if’s and what could have been’s.

After tonight, when they find the dingy CRV I stole at the bottom of Finkel Pond, the person he believes thinks I am will be dead, and I’ll continue living my never-ending lie…without him.