20. Laura

Chapter 20

Laura

I watch in horror as the hammer flies at Jackal's head. He barely manages to duck out of the way, and a plume of concrete chips scatters against his back from where the tool smashes against the wall.

"Not the welcome I expected," he says, picking himself up.

I stand trembling. This can't be real. This seriously can't be real. I finally pushed myself too hard and I'm having the mental breakdown I always expected. Jackal can't actually be here.

Yeah, I told him to show up, and I gave him some pretty decent incentive, but there's no possible way he could've actually pulled it off.

This was going to happen sooner or later. My tenuous grip on reality was shaky at best, and now it's totally gone.

"I'm hallucinating," I say, thinking maybe if I admit it out loud, that'll snap me out of it, like telling myself to wake up during a dream.

"No, you're not." He comes toward me.

I brandish the chisel at him. "You can't actually be here. There's no way."

"There's always a way."

I try to stab him. I figure, if I do something drastic, it'll break the illusion and I'll find myself lying on the floor passed out from dust inhalation or something. Instead, my hallucination catches my wrist with a grunt and yanks me off balance. I try to punch him, but he turns his shoulder and lifts me, throwing me down onto my back, and cradling my head to keep it from bumping off the floor.

I land with a gasp as the chisel clatters from my fingers.

His other hand brushes my cheek.

"You're not hallucinating," he says gently. "And please don't try to stab me anymore."

I blink up at him. My brain starts to catch up with reality. "You're really here?"

"I'm really here." He releases me and helps me to sit up. I rub my shoulder and gape, trying to come to grips with what I'm seeing.

Jackal is in my house. He snuck past the guards, the snipers, and the electronic surveillance system, and now he's here, in my basement, in my workshop. I'm a dusty, ugly mess, sweaty from working for hours, and he's looking right at me.

I probably smell bad.

This can't really be happening.

But if he were a hallucination, there's no way my own mind would let me miss killing him twice .

"How?" is all I can think to ask.

"Set off a distraction. I rigged the alarm in one of the houses furthest from here to go off, and I sent a drone to start shooting at it for good measure. That pulled the guards away."

I rub my face and realize my hands are trembling. "I could've killed you."

"I think if you actually wanted me dead, you wouldn't have missed." The humor in his tone is unmissable, and suddenly I wish I could see the expression on his face. Instead, it's the usual impassive jackal face staring at me with only a pair of light gray-blue eyes visible through the slits.

"You realize what'll happen if they catch you here?"

"Then we better make sure they don't."

I groan and push myself to my feet. I pace away, caught between raw excitement and fear.

Up until this point, the game was fun. I liked the mystery and the danger, but most of all I liked that it was taking place outside of my usual world. I could go to Jackal, push my boundaries, and still have my home to return to in the end. This place is my sanctuary.

Except now, for the first time ever, a man is standing in my basement. At least, a man who I'm not related to.

"This is beautiful, you know." Jackal stands over my sculpture and runs a hand down the raw edge.

"It's not finished." I resist the urge to tell him to stop. "I don't usually show people unfinished pieces."

"I'll close my eyes if you want."

"I mean—" I realize he's kidding and give him a hard look. "That's not funny."

"Relax. I've seen it already, remember?" He gestures toward the camera and I realize with a flush that he's been watching me this whole time. I wanted him to watch. Except there's a difference between him on the other end of a camera lens and him standing in my basement.

"I'm just having trouble coming to terms with this." I keep backing up until I bump into my workbench.

He looks at me, head tilted to the side, studying me. I feel so insanely seen, and this time, I don't like it. When we're playing, I crave a sense of vulnerability. It heightens the experience and intensifies the fear.

This is different. It's like he's standing inside of my head and rooting around my memories, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about it. When I was teasing him earlier, I really did like the idea of him showing up. But now that he's here?

"You're uncomfortable." He steps toward me, expressionless mask staring. "You thought it was an empty offer."

"I thought it was a safe offer. I never imagined you could pull it off."

"It turns out I'm willing to take considerable risks if it means being close to you."

I let that sink in. And it honestly scares me, how much I like it.

He comes closer. I stare at his body, at the lean lines of his muscular frame, and I feel that shiver rush through me again. Lust, desire, need, it bubbles into my core, and I'm fidgeting with expectation and nerves. The shock of him showing up in my house slowly begins to fade, replaced by the raw animal want that's always floating in my veins whenever he's around.

But there's something else in my head. "You know what I was thinking about?" I brush past him before he can get too close. I move over to the stairs and start climbing them. The basement is my haven, but I can handle him up in the kitchen.

He follows without a word. Maybe he understands, maybe he doesn't. I go to the refrigerator and pour two glasses of white wine. He watches me, saying nothing. I wash the dust off my hands and arm and gulp my glass down as I dry myself with a dish rag. He leaves his glass untouched.

"What were you thinking about, little demon?" he asks.

I meet his eyes. "When you kissed me."

"Do you think about it often?"

"I don't know." I touch my lips with two fingers. "But you've only done it once. Is that part of the game?"

"I'm not sure," he admits and it sounds like he's genuinely puzzled.

"Maybe kissing is too intimate?"

"That can't be it. I dream about claiming your mouth every day."

I refuse to whimper right now, even though the idea of him dominating my lips is more than a little appealing.

"Then what?"

"The mask." He tilts his head. "It's in the way."

"Then take it off," I whisper, heart skipping beats. The kitchen's dim lighting makes him seem ten feet taller than he is as he comes near me.

"You know I can't," he says, speaking quietly, making me strain to listen.

"But what if you did?" I ask, and even though I know it risks ruining everything, I let the words rush out. "We could put the mask back on. We could still play. You know who I am. Maybe it's time I find out who you are."

He stops inches away from me. I reach up and touch the edge of my mask, and he doesn't move to stop it. I could yank it off and see who he is, but I don't move. The lacquered jackal face is cold under my fingertips, and I can feel his warm breath on my wrists.

"If you do this, it'll be the end," he whispers. "I know you don't believe me, but trust is a part of what we do. You have to trust me, Laura. If you take off my mask, you won't want to put it back on, and nothing will be the same."

I'm so tempted. He's in my house, in my space, and I want to know who he is with a sudden reckless ferocity. This man broke into my life, came into my basement, into my heart and my haven, and all I want in return is to see his face. That's not asking a lot.

Except I can't bring myself to take the mask off, because I know he's right.

"How are you going to kiss me then?" I whisper back, goosebumps running down my skin.

He reaches up and brushes a hand across my cheek. The other wraps around my side and presses a palm into my lower back. I take a sharp breath as he draws me closer, and the mask nudges back slightly, revealing a tan jawline. Square, just like I knew it was, with light brown stubble.

"Close your eyes and don't peek."

"Jackal—"

"Do it, little demon."

I let out a sigh and obey. I squeeze my eyes shut, and once they're closed, I push his mask up. He helps with his other hand, and I feel the mask slide off his face. My chin tilts up, my lips parted, my heart racing so hard I can barely breathe, and then I feel him. His mouth brushes against my cheek and pecks the corner of my lips.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers. "Tell me you're happy I'm here."

"I want it. I'm happy."

"For a minute down there, I was worried I crossed a line."

"You didn't. You can't. I'm just—" I'm broken and weird, and I don't know how to have a normal relationship, much less one with a man in a mask. But maybe he knows that already, and I don't have to say it out loud.

He doesn't seem to mind. His lips find mine. They're soft and rough, a beautiful, perfect combination, and the first kiss is so soft, barely a peck. He's exploring, but I can't help myself. I reach up and pull him down, pushing myself into him harder, and then he's feasting on me, his lips kissing me deep and rough and lovely, his tongue exploring behind my teeth, and I whimper into his mouth as the kiss blows me away and leaves my heart racing wildly in my chest.

It's the kiss I've been dreaming about. It's even better—it's Jackal's mouth dominating my own, his tongue and teeth and lips driving me wild, his body pressing mine back against the counter and his hands lacing through my hair. I gasp and drive my tongue deeper into his, and I groan as I lose myself in the pleasure of a good, deep kiss. It's the kind of intimacy I didn't know I was capable of, and no matter what else happens tonight, this was completely worth it.

I want him in my basement. I want him around my sculptures. I want to ask him to watch me work, in person, wearing the mask. I want all that and so much more. I want him in my bed, in my arms.

But most of all, I want to see his face.

I don't care about the game. I should've realized that a while ago. The game was only a way into this. Now we're so beyond it. Jackal might have his reasons for keeping his identity a secret, but I'm ready to toss all of that aside and make whatever's happening between us real.

All I have to do is open my eyes.

That's all it'll take. His face is exposed right now, inches from mine. I can stop the kiss and look at him, and then I'll know. But I don't want to stop kissing him, and I don't think I could even if I tried, because I'm so lost in this moment, my head spinning and wild with him.

Then someone pounding at the door breaks the spell.

We freeze. Jackal pulls back and I catch a glimpse of a nose, cheekbones, eyes, before the mask drops down to cover him again.

"What's that?" he asks.

More pounding on my front door. Then it hits me.

"Oh, shit," I whisper, grabbing his arm. "You set off a security sweep."

"What now?" He stares at me with real intensity and there's a nervous energy in his posture.

"When anything big happens, the guard team sweeps the full oasis. They're going to come inside and make sure I'm okay."

"Can you get rid of them?"

"Yes, and you could stay in the basement, but once they're done with the sweep, they'll be on lockdown. Nothing in or out for at least a few hours. Sneaking back out of here?—"

The knocking gets more insistent. Jackal curses and paces away. "I should go," he says, and he sounds like it kills him.

It kills me, too. But he's right. "Go out the back and hurry. Jump the fence at the back-right corner. It's in the most shadow, and I don't think anyone watching will see you."

"It's okay, baby." He turns back to me and grabs my wrist, pulling me against him. I'm surprised when he brushes a thumb across my lower lip. I open my mouth and bite it gently. "I'll message you when I'm safe."

"Coming here was stupid. You know that, right?"

"I know. But I'll be back."

I want to ask him what his real name is. I'm tired of calling him Jackal. I don't want this distance between us anymore.

I want to play with the man behind the mask.

He turns away and strides to the door. I watch him go, feeling a sense of determination wash over me.

It's against the rules, but screw that. This whole game is about creating a new way to live.

I'm going to find out who Jackal is. Not because I want this to be over—but because I want it to last.