The Alignment (24 page)

I swallow. The sound of it floods the room. My ears boom, raw to every noise. They got him. And now they’re coming for me. They think I’m going to be easy. They are in for a surprise.

The front door opens and slams closed. I’m not at all surprised by their boldness. I aim at the doorway, my finger itching to squeeze the trigger. Not yet. I need a clear shot. I’m only doing this once, and it has to be fatal.

But there were at least two people in the car, and it sounds like only one has entered the front. I turn my body so I have a view of both doorways.

Something moves at the back door. A wagging tail. River! Why is she here? Doesn’t she know? The footsteps approach. Something in the back of my mind is arguing with me. I take my finger off the trigger.

The light flips on, blinding me for a split second. He lunges toward me, cursing, pushing the gun up toward the ceiling.

Callous eyes ravage me in search of an explanation.

“I didn’t know it was you,” I say. “It was a different car.”

“Dave drove me home,” he snaps. “My truck broke down.”

“You could have called.” I try to make my voice level. He’s the one who owes an explanation and I’m the one doing the explaining. Maybe I should shoot him.

He snorts and turns away.

And I thought
I
was the one being childish. He must have to win at everything, including this new game we’re playing: Who’s the Bigger Jackass.

I take the gun with me into the bedroom, shut the door, and sit on the bed in the dark. The noise from him banging around in the kitchen filters through the door. I shouldn’t have retreated. Without a good look at him, I have no idea if he’s honoring my wishes to lay off the capsules. He’s in such a bad mood it’s going to be impossible to tell if it’s his temper or the capsules.

I emerge from the room. My stomach growls on my way to the kitchen. He’s at the table, glaring into the plate of leftovers from breakfast. I stand in front of the sink, facing him. His head swivels slowly toward me, the glare now aimed at its intended target. He’s probably wondering about my next move. His temper has turned him animalistic. His face is hard and cold, but the fire is there. He hasn’t taken the capsules.

“Thank you,” I say softly, watching him, wishing this could be over.

His expression holds and he turns back to his plate.

“Do you mind if I eat with you?” I open the refrigerator.

He makes no response. The whole room seems to cower away from him.

I heat up my leftover breakfast and fill a glass with water. Noticing he has nothing to drink, I fill another glass and set it in front of him. He glowers at it as if it’s going to strike. I sit across from him.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?” I ask.

He looks across the table at me. If looks could kill, I would be obliterated. Along with every form of life for miles behind me.

A dull, fuzzy ache throbs through my skull. The shame and guilt return. They’ve already spoiled the success of my plan. It all feels like a big mistake, even though it worked. I should’ve tried to talk to him about it before acting so rashly. I should’ve held on to the plan as a backup and only used it if a talk with him didn’t work. Who am I kidding? He would’ve never agreed with me, no matter how rational I was.

With his plate empty, he lifts the glass and drinks the entire thing at once. Whether he intends it or not, the action mocks me. I watch his face, hoping to catch something to prove me wrong. All I see is bold thanklessness, as if he’s flaunting his avoidance of me and rubbing it in further. As far as he’s concerned, that glass of water just materialized in front of him. I’m not here. I’m a ghost, painfully aware of every move he makes yet completely invisible and inconsequential to him. Not even worth the effort of eye contact.

He puts his dishes in the sink and leaves the room. Isolation closes in like it couldn’t wait for him to leave. I finish my meal, my head swarming with no relief in sight. My vision blurs, and I press my sleeves against my damp eyes. I remember what Christian said when he was here.

He has the worst temper
.

I see now what an understatement that is. But it seems to only apply to certain situations. People coming after him regularly to mutilate his body, that he takes in stride. He has no hard feelings toward them, it’s just business. But if someone close to him disagrees with him, he loses it. For a merciless killer, he’s quite thin-skinned.

If he was any other man I’d be packing to leave. Maybe I should reconsider my choice to stay with him, but it would be like reconsidering my choice to sleep once I get off a double shift. He’s part of my life now. We’re bound. He’ll have to learn this behavior is wrong.

I take my dishes to the sink and as I turn off the faucet I hear him step into the room. Then he’s behind me, against me, running his fingers across the back of my neck to brush my hair to the side. His lips make contact with my skin and he inhales with the slowest, deepest breath. His hands grasp my hips in a gentle snare.

I involuntarily relax into him when an alarm goes off in my mind. He’s testing me. He kisses the side of my neck once, twice, and I grip the countertop with both hands to stabilize myself. If I react to him, he’s going to win. He’s going to say I’m wrong, that my idea will never work, that we cannot be responsible for our self-control.

For a second I want to be wrong. I want to give in and fail his test. Wild heat crawls from the impact of his lips down my chest and back. He pulls me by the hips against his pelvis. He wants me to know he’s excited. He’ll probably take it all the way just to prove a point. He’s fighting dirty, and he thinks I can’t say no. Using all my strength, I push against him and twist my hips, slip out, and leave the room.

I close myself in the bathroom and brush my teeth. Once isn’t enough to calm me down so I brush them again. When I exit the bathroom, I see him in the living room putting on his running shoes. I hesitate in the shadow, wondering if I should say something to him, if there’s anything I could do to remedy this situation tonight. When I realize I have nothing to say, I go into the bedroom and hear the front door slam.

Chapter 29

Trey

E
ven after that
long run last night, I slept like hell. I rise from the couch, rolling my neck and stretching my back. The bag of capsules sticking out of my jeans pocket on the floor catches my eye. I know well enough when I’ve been defeated, and I’m not afraid to admit it. But it doesn’t make me any less pissed about what she did. I grab the bag and take it with me into the kitchen, tossing it onto her spot at the table harder than I mean to.

I make a pot of oatmeal for breakfast and she appears in the kitchen just as I’m sitting down. Our eyes meet, an accident on my part, but I catch her expectant expression. She hopes I’m over it. I look back to my bowl. She fills the bowl I left for her on the counter and comes to the table, stopping as she sees the bag of capsules. I refuse to look up. She picks it up gently, puts it in the pocket of her scrubs, and takes her seat.

“Can I at least apologize?” she asks.

I ignore her.

“I shouldn’t have been so rash. I should have talked to you first. And I’m sorry.”

I want to forgive her, but I can’t. It grates against my nature. I make the mistake of looking at her. Her eyes implore mine, and I struggle to hold on to myself. I just don’t want to think about it. So I don’t. I finish my oatmeal and leave the house without a word.

I take the Ninja to the shop in town to check on my truck. Dave tells me it’s just the fuel pump after all and will be done in a few hours, so I have some time to kill. I think about our upcoming trip to make sure we have everything we need. We will need some sturdy luggage to carry all our guns. And I need to make sure I have everything for the Discretion Effect. I’m surprised Liv hasn’t asked how we’re going to get all those guns through the airport. I guess she’s been too busy planning ways to manipulate me.

I ride to the mall. The department store’s lot is under construction so I park by the main entrance and walk. On my way, something in the window of a jewelry store catches my eye. It’s a replica of the white shell bracelet I put on Liv’s wrist in her mind, and it couldn’t be closer to what we both imagined. Maybe I’ve seen this bracelet here before, and my subconscious mind found the memory and used it. It’s hard to believe I’d notice it, much less remember it. I haven’t been to this mall in years.

The salesman pokes his head out of the store. “Shopping for a lady friend? That bracelet comes with a necklace and earrings, too.”

“How long have you had this bracelet?”

“It’s brand new this week, from our newest line. Would you like to see it?”

I follow him into the store. He takes it out of the case and reaches back in for the other pieces.

“Just the bracelet,” I say.

“Very well. Is this for a special occasion?”

“Yes.”

“For your wife? Girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He chuckles, placing the bracelet on a velvet cloth on top of a display case.

The damn thing is exact, down to the silver clasp. I nod at him, and he takes it away to wrap. I wonder when I’ll be able to give it to her. Probably not anytime soon. He returns and I pay, sticking the box inside my inner jacket pocket.

The department store has a heavy-duty duffle bag that will be perfect for our weapons. I buy two, and ask the salesperson to hold them for a few hours when I can return with the truck. I make a few stops to pick up some other supplies we’ll need. My truck is ready by the time I make it back to the shop. Dave helps me load the Ninja into the bed, and I drive back to the mall to pick up the luggage. With nothing left I could do, I go home.

I stack the luggage in the living room and go downstairs to lift some weights. The workout is exactly the release I need. I’m still at it when I hear her come home. Her presence in the house becomes an immediate distraction, so I add some reps hoping to wear myself out more. I take my time finishing up then put my weights away.

Upstairs, I’m greeted by the smell of Chinese food, my one absolute weakness in life. Besides ice cream. I don’t know who she’s been talking to, but I don’t question it. I drink a glass of milk and a glass of water while my ears reach for sounds of her. It’s curiosity, nothing more, since the house is so quiet. I eye the brown paper bag of food and consider breaking into it before she comes back. But if I do that, she might expect some conditions, like friendly conversation, or my forgiveness, and I’m still in no mood to think about that. Soft footsteps move into the living room so I turn my back to the doorway and refill my glass at the sink.

“Do you like Chinese food?”

It feels like a loaded question, so I don’t answer.

“I thought it would be nice if you didn’t have to cook for once. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it, I just…” Her voice fades as if she just realized I may not be listening to her.

I catch a glimpse of her face. She is clearly groveling. Regret twists inside me, triggering my endless guilt. No one’s safe around me. The ones who don’t get murdered have to put up with me. Being murdered is probably the better option. “I’ll eat it,” I blurt out. It’s the first and only thing that comes to my mind.

She’s so pleased she can hardly contain herself. She takes the bag to the table and unloads carton after carton of food. I wipe myself down with a towel, splash some water on my face, and wash my hands. I take two plates out of the cabinet and fill a glass of water for her. When I sit across from her, she’s waiting with clasped hands and big eyes. Those eyes ready to undo me.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a few different—”

“I like it all.”

I sense my mood lifting, and I finally allow it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. The one person in the world who is wholly on my side, and I’m making her suffer. Yes, there was a breach, but she’s admitted it and apologized. And here I am dragging it out. I take a dangerous plunge into her eyes. Her brows lift the slightest, like she’s unsure what to expect, but hoping for the best.

She opens her mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it. I try to think of something to say but can’t. We eat in silence, the air between us already changed.

When I finish off the last carton, I lean back in my chair. She throws a fortune cookie, and I catch it, unwrap it, and read the fortune to myself.

“Oh you have to read it out loud.” That playfulness in her voice hangs just below the surface.

“Use patience when change face you head on,” I read.

Her laugh is not her usual joyful laugh, but it’s an attempt. “They
have
to make the grammar bad. It wouldn’t be the same otherwise.” She cracks hers open. “An important decision grant you gift to cherish.”

I toss the empty cartons and clear the table. The bag I thought was empty contains two untouched cartons.

“Don’t do it,” she says. “You can’t possibly eat any more.”

Her words carry the trace of a laugh. I want to smile, but I don’t. Yeah, I was considering finishing it off. I can’t be that easy to read.

She puts the kettle on the stove and goes for the chamomile tea while I stash the leftovers in the fridge. With her back to me, she stays by the stove, leaning her hip against the counter, waiting for the water to boil. I go into the living room for my jacket, and reach into the inner pocket for the small silver box. I am impulsive by nature. I’m not going to fight it.

She’s still in the same position when I return to the kitchen, so I take her hand off the countertop and place the box inside it. She looks up at me then at the box in her palm, her whole arm rigid as if she’s holding a bomb.

“What—”

“Open it.”

The deep blue velvet case inside gives her pause. For a second I think she’s going to hand it back. She lifts it out and peeks inside. Her breath catches, and she backs up a step.

“You’ve had this—”

“No. I just found it today.”

She removes the bracelet from its case and lays it across her palm. “You didn’t know about this when we…”

“No. I’d never seen it before that night on the bluffs.”

She can’t seem to look away from me, so I take the bracelet from her and put it on the same wrist she had it on when we were on the beach.

“I love it,” she whispers, returning her attention to her wrist. Without warning, she throws her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. That wasn’t me.”

I close my arms around her, bury my face in her neck and breathe in, feeling myself being lifted, healed, made new again. Before my thoughts get creative, I gently unwrap her arms and hold her in front of me. Her eyes glow electric blue with a line of tears running down each cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

My body seizes with actual physical pain, and I wipe her tears with my thumb. “Please don’t.” I can’t stand it.

The kettle screams, and I reach blindly behind her to move it and turn off the burner.

“I don’t deserve this.” She goes for the clasp on the bracelet.

“Don’t say that.” I remove her hand and enclose it in mine. “It’s not your fault I’m such an asshole.”

She stares down at the bracelet again and shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. It’s so perfect. It’s exactly what I saw in my mind.”

I feel a smile creeping up that I don’t try to suppress. “Make your tea. I’m going to take a quick shower.”

When I get out of the shower I find her in the living room leaning over a book. “Why didn’t you teach me some astronomy?” Her focus slips from my face to my chest. I turn around to retrieve a shirt from the bedroom closet.

Her expression is guarded when I return.

“I just didn’t want to overdo it. But we can do it again.”

“When?” Her eyes light up.

“As soon as things calm down.” I sit on the couch beside her. She unfolds her legs and stretches them out, putting her feet in my lap.

“Your feet are like ice cubes.” I wrap my hands around them.

“I was wondering. When you were in my head, is it possible you unintentionally left some things behind…?”

“Like what?” Shit, I hope not.

“Fragments of memories.” The detail comes fast and straight, like it’s been rehearsed.

“It’s unavoidable. It’s like any human interaction. We rub off on one another. I don’t think there’s a way to withdraw from someone’s mind and not leave a trace you were there. But it’s been a long time since I’ve done it. I’ll try to be more careful next time.”

“So I can blame you for my impulsive behavior yesterday morning?”

“No, you can’t. Because I’m not impulsive.”

“Oh,
right
.” She nods toward the duffle bags I bought today. “What are the bags for?”

“Carrying our gear.”

“I hope you’re kidding.” She gauges my expression and seems to understand that I’m not. “How’s that going to work?”

“I have to prepare something in the basement tomorrow for that. Discretion Effect. It can make people unsee what they see.”

“We’re going to walk straight into an airport openly carrying bags full of guns?”

“Yes, but what I’ll make is going to intercept the message in their brains. So they’ll see it, and then the impulse will just dissipate. It will never reach the cognitive part of their brain. I’m sure there’s a legal way to get guns onto a plane but this is easier.”

“Oh, god. Why am I going along with this?”

“It’s a way to be discreet about something you can’t hide. It’s one of my favorite effects.” I squeeze her feet, working the blood to them.

“When can we pick up my Ruger?” Her lips shine in the low light. There can’t be any harm in kissing her. She pulls her feet out of my hands and folds them underneath her.

“Tomorrow. And we need to pack. We’re leaving early Sunday morning.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“To meet my fucked-up family? No. But it will be entertaining.” I pause to think even though nothing’s changed. Yes I’m pushing it. She’ll be safer with me. End of story. “We didn’t get in as much practice as I wanted, but to be honest, I don’t think you need it.”