The Alignment (28 page)

“He has no control over who he—” I jam my fists against the mattress. He was fucking her that long ago. Right in front of my face. God I could kill him.

“Think about it. Would Christian do that to you? You yourself said he and your mother are the only ones you can trust. So trust them and know he wouldn’t have done that to you if it was within his control.”

I look away from her. I don’t want to believe this. Because if I do, I’ll never be able to take back what I said to him. What I did to him.

Fucker deserved it.

“Your mother wanted me to stop you because she knew what it would do to you once you found out the truth. She knew if you’d hurt him, you’d never be able to live with yourself.”

If
I hurt him. I did hurt him. She saw it. So did I.

“And I couldn’t get to you in time,” she continues. “I had to stop you the only way I could. Thank god my aim was good.”

“You should’ve never come out into the open like that. You know better.” I try to clear the image of her falling to the ground from my mind. Her lifeless eyes, after I pulled the arrow out. Her blood, all over my hands. “Aaron thought you were aiming at Christian.”

“I had no choice.”

“You sacrificed yourself. For
me
. Do you know how ridiculous that is? And just to save me from handing out something he deserves. You could be dead!” Her shoulders are in my hands and I’m gripping too hard. I release my hands.

“Not ridiculous at all because here we are. Everything worked out.” She smiles.

“That’s quite a gamble to have made.” Not everything worked out. I need to go back there.

“Oh, and that address. Did you write down that address?” She looks around the room, pushing up from her heels to make herself taller on her knees.

“Yes. Over there. Why?”

“We need to go there. Your mother told me I need to take you there.”

“She didn’t say why?”

“No. Just that I need to take you there.” She shrugs.

Something has to be missing. My mother usually isn’t so cryptic. “What were her exact words?”

She looks away thoughtfully. “She told me about Christian, and said she was going to put an address in my mind and when the time was right I would think of it. And that I should take you there right away.”

“She put it in your mind because she didn’t want to write it down. What I wrote last night is useless.”

“What do you mean?”

I laugh hard—it shouldn’t be so funny. “See that napkin right there on the table? Go look at it.”

She hops off the bed and picks up the napkin. “It’s blank.” She holds it out for me to see.

“Exactly.”

“I thought you wrote it down for me!”

“I did. But my mother didn’t want a paper trail.”

Her hand flies to her mouth. “Please tell me you remember it.”

“Umm…” I should draw it out. “Let me see…” I love it when she gets worked up like this.

She returns to the bedside and smacks the top of my head. “Trey!”

“You’ll think of it again,” I say through my laughter, dodging her again. I snatch her and pull her on top of me.

“What if I don’t?!” she cries, jabbing me in the ribs.

I roll on top of her, holding her down. “3015 Scarlet Lane,” I whisper in her ear.

“You jerk.” She squirms under me, giggling.

“Liv.” I’m overtaken by something I need to say. “Everything was a lie. They fed me lie upon lie upon lie, and I believed them all.”

Her smile fades, and her expression becomes pained. “I know.”

“I can’t believe my mother and Christian went along with it. I can’t believe—”

“They were probably both powerless to say anything.” She places her finger over my lips. “You know if they could have, they would’ve told you the truth.”

Deep down I know she’s right. I roll off her, onto my back. “Is it wrong to be relieved he’s not mine?”

She’s as motionless and silent as she was when I first laid her in this bed. I shouldn’t expect her to answer a question like that, and just when I think she’s not going to, she does. “I don’t think so. It’s not wrong to be relieved that a boy was not away from his father for fifteen years, that a boy had not been lied to for fifteen years.”

Her perspective heals me. I feel some of my guilt lift off and vaporize.

She turns her head. Looks into my eyes. “And all those years you were tormented without him, you can let it go. You are now released from that.”

I wrap my arms around her, pull her against me. She nuzzles into my neck, and for a few brief moments I feel cured from the sick poison of guilt mixed with the disappointment of unfulfilled revenge. Like that primal need to watch them all die has been boxed up and tossed off a cliff. Like my past and everything I’ve done has been erased.

She opens her lips against my neck and whispers, “Fearghus.”

I exhale. “Only a matter of time before you brought that up.”

“You actually do look like a Fearghus. But how is Trey short for that? Is Fearghus your real name?”

“It’s my middle name.”

“Trey Fearghus Bevan.” She winds her legs around mine and sighs in contentment.

I could stay like this with her forever.

Chapter 34

Liv

I
close the bathroom
door behind me and rip the bandage off my chest. I have no idea what the wound looked like before, but now it looks like a week-old scar. I strain to rip the one off my back and turn in the mirror to examine what it was hiding. I don’t need a close look to see how perfectly the wound has healed. Judging from where the arrow struck, I should have lost enough blood for the wound to have been fatal.

Forget the wound. What did he do to my hair? It’s tangled in so many knots I consider cutting it all off. I clip my fingernails to make it easier to get the dirt out from under them. In the shower, I wash my hair twice and load it up with conditioner. When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s at the table cleaning and oiling our weapons. I pull my comb out of my bag and join him.

“How is it?” He doesn’t look up from his work.

“A mess.” I tug the comb through the ends, hoping I don’t break too much hair.

He looks up, startled. “Can I see? You have nothing to compare it to.”

I realize he’s talking about my wound, not my hair. I had already put it out of my mind. “Oh. My wound. It’s just fine.”

“What did you think I meant?”

I hold up a section of my still-knotted hair.

“I had to cut the rubber band out. It was a lost cause.” He goes back to his work.

I should have taken my shower before we went to breakfast—our hosts seemed worried about me earlier. I hope my dirty skin and tragic hair didn’t give them any reason to be suspicious. No one can blame me for wanting to eat before showering. It had been over twenty-four hours since I last ate. When they asked if I enjoyed the soup and sandwiches, Trey answered for me without hesitation. I have no idea what condition I was in when they first saw me.

“Can I help?” I ask.

“No. You need to rest. Get back in bed.”

“You can’t be serious. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Aside from the fact that you almost died a few hours ago?” He pushes away from the table. “I’m going out to clean up the mess in the car. Stay in here, and don’t let anyone in. I don’t want anyone to see our arsenal. When I’m done, I’ll get some lunch.”

Alone in the room with nothing to do, I decide to scrub out yesterday’s clothes in the bathtub. A river of red-tinged water flows down the drain. This must be why he wanted us dressed in black—it masks the blood. I hang them up in the bathroom to dry. I make the bed, tidy up the room, and repack my bag. He finally comes back, balancing a tray heaping with food.

“Looks like we’re driving to Chicago. I just bought a car.”

“You what?” I hold out my hands for the tray but he moves past me.

“Apparently taking a new car off-roading in the woods is hard on the paint job. So I just decided to buy it.” He grins. “Insurance claims are a pain in the ass.”

“That’s an expensive car…”

“I think I deserve it. I did save someone’s life yesterday.” He balances the edge of the tray on the table and pushes some of the guns aside to make room for our lunch. “So we’re going to have to take a short detour back to Richmond. I need to sign some papers.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” He shrugs out of his jacket.

My eyes go straight to his gunshot wound. “Why didn’t you wrap that? It looks like you opened it back—” I choke on my own voice. I move closer to examine it. He’s not healing as fast as he should be.

He glances down at his arm, and for a second he looks as paranoid as I feel. Then he relaxes. “Don’t you remember what happened to my leg? And everything was fine. This just happens sometimes if I overdo it.” He pulls out a chair for me.

I don’t feel convinced, but I sit anyway, and we eat lunch. Afterward, he grudgingly goes along with my meticulous bandaging of his arm.

“We’ll see what this looks like in the morning,” I say when I finish. “Did you get the bullet out?”

His eyes shift as if he’s trying to remember. “I got it out.”

I don’t even think
I
would have had the stomach to do that to myself.

We pack everything up and load the car. I see what he means about the paint job, and I also see he’s understating the damage—a broken headlight, dents and tears not only on the front of the car but also the back, scratches along both sides. I go into the office with him to check out so I can thank our hosts properly this time. As we leave, Trey hands the woman a hundred dollar bill. By the time she recovers herself to refuse, we’re walking out the door.

Outside, I open my mouth but he speaks first. “Save it.” When he sees my fake offense, he adds, “It’s hush money. I’m covering your butt.”

“God, you’re a smartass. How did I ever get stuck with you?”

We get in the car, and he leans over to me. “I ran a red light.” The joy in his eyes shocks my heart.

“How soon I forget.”

Smirking, he pulls onto the road and floors it. I try to ignore him because I don’t want to encourage his recklessness, but I can’t stop myself from smiling. We must be in the mountains now. The narrow road winds through a forest that appears eager to overtake the pavement. We gain elevation as the trees fall away on one side, offering hints of blue sky beyond their tops now almost level with us. Then we round a curve and I see what they’ve been hiding—hazy mountains in varying shades of blue as far as the eye can see.

“When do I get to drive?”

“Next stop, we’ll switch off.”

“I was kidding.” I really was.

“Well I’m not.”

“I am not driving your new car.”

“It’s not mine yet.”

The drive back to Richmond is startlingly quick. As soon as we enter the city limits, he rolls up both windows and slows down, obviously in an attempt not to draw too much attention. He takes us to a posh car dealership and parks out front among the Jaguars, Porches, and a bright yellow Lamborghini.

Inside, he’s recognized immediately and ushered into an office.

“Everything is ready to go, Mr. Bevan. I just need you to sign here, here, and here. And then here, and here.” The salesman hands him a pen.

“The funds?” Trey asks.

“Already here,” the man answers.

Outside, Trey hands me the key. “Now I do own it. So if you wreck it, you owe me a lot of money.”

“But what you don’t realize is that I don’t mind being forever indebted to you.” I take the key and open the doors. He takes the passenger seat and slides his seat back as I slide mine forward. I pull the steering wheel closer, adjust the mirrors, and start it up. The car roars awake. “And isn’t it already wrecked?”

“Not as well as you’d do it.”

I’d try to ignore him if I could, but I’m sure my smile gives me away. I back out of the parking spot and pull onto the road. The power under my foot scares me, but I get used to it after a few minutes and try to drive conservatively while Trey directs me on our route. As soon as we get on the highway, I merge over into the fast lane and mash the pedal to the floor. I can barely hear Trey’s laughter over the roar of the Camaro. I slow back down and merge to the right.

He overdoes his surprise. “That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s all I need. I’m not an aggressive driver like you. Running lights, wrecking other people’s cars…”

He clears his throat hard and settles back in his seat. “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind if I took a nap?”

“Not at all. What’s my next turn?”

“81 South to Lexington.”

He falls asleep in minutes, and my thoughts wander. It’s nice to have some time to myself. My mind replays every minute of yesterday’s events, analyzing each detail. The part that keeps resurfacing is that Trey never had the opportunity to finish his conversation with Kate. Which means things still aren’t settled between them. Perhaps the news from his mother cancels out his need to settle anything with Kate at all.

What a surprise it was to see how they treated each other when I had myself prepared for some affection between the two of them. But I guess their relationship was over to her fifteen years ago. She just didn’t have the decency to release Trey. She held the power over his suffering, and she continued it for so very long. I ease my foot off the pedal when I notice I’m speeding. And suddenly I realize how much I hate her.

And Christian. A sickness twists my stomach when I think of him and how things might have happened differently if I hadn’t hesitated. I can only imagine what Trey said to him, as if Trey’s violence against him wasn’t enough to hurt him. I don’t hold Trey responsible for any of it. It was my job to stop him, and I didn’t make it in time.

I glance at him sleeping crunched against the window, arms crossed tightly, chin tucked against his chest. I see a fragility. A little boy. When I return my attention to the road, in my head I see a wall of mirrors reflecting a brightly lit room with mats on the floor and a dark-haired little boy facing his reflection, which is somehow my reflection. He turns when two grown men attack then it’s flashes of movement—arms, knees, fists—and the peripheral view of the action in the mirrors. Feelings sweep in. A dark desperation, a primal rage. My heart pounds. Whether it’s my imagination or one of his stray memories loose in my head, it’s a nightmare I don’t want to see.

I exit the highway at a rest stop for a bathroom break. Trey doesn’t stir from the sudden quiet stillness in the car, so I leave him there. When I return, he’s missing. I take the passenger seat and surf through radio stations. He might have a web of torment in his head, but we’re going to make new memories. We’ll push all the bad ones out.

“Are you hungry?” he asks as he gets in the driver’s seat.

“I could eat.”

“Okay. Keep an eye out for somewhere good.” He pulls onto the highway and the low sun in the sky blinds us. “I’m not holding back anymore,” he informs me without allowing the slightest pause to soften the unexpected change of subject.

I’m quiet for a moment to digest his meaning. He could only be talking about backing out of our no sex bargain, our only safe bet against his godlike fertility and his family’s army of killers. Which means he’s gone crazy.

Probably taking my silence for confusion, he adds, “With you.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask an obvious question, for lack of anything better to say.

“I don’t care.”

“What brought this on?”

“I’m done with them. And all their crap. For all I know, the prophecy is a lie, too.”

“So you’re just being rebellious?”

“Not at all. I’m doing what I want to do, for once in my life.”

I look over at him. His eyes are determined and his jaw is set. He’s going to make it impossible for me to keep my promise to him. “I promised you I’d be responsible for us, and I intend—”

“You’re officially released from your promise.” He smiles mischievously at me and I turn into a puddle of goo—a speechless puddle—which seems convenient because I can tell by his body language that he doesn’t expect a response.

When I find my voice, I say, “But you’re still married.”

“Fuck it,” he says dryly. “So are you.” He laughs.

“Maybe we should do something about that.” It’s only logical. It’s what we need to be right now. Not controlled by hormones or lust or spells or bloodlines.

“Too much paperwork.”

I can tell he considers the subject dropped, so I do too, knowing we’ll have to revisit it later. He’s focused on the more important business of finding a restaurant we agree on.

Seated across from him in our booth, I’m so distracted I don’t even taste the food, and every look he gives me sends chills to every nerve ending in my body. I wonder if those looks have actual intent, or if it’s just my reaction to knowing he has completely given in.

While waiting for our bill, he takes my hand, and kisses the back of it. His lips linger so long it becomes the X-rated version of the back-of-the-hand kiss.

“It’s really bad timing.” I seem to be out of breath.

The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t care. I pull my hand away.

“One week,” I say.

He slowly shakes his head, staring at me with an intensity that conveys only one thing.

“This isn’t fair.” I dig in my purse for my phone and check the calendar where I marked my last cycle. I count ahead, and sure enough, we are right in the midst of the riskiest time.

Our bill arrives and he puts cash on the table and stands, offering his hand. Outside in the chill, he puts his warm arm around me, pulling me against him. When we reach the car he spins me to face him.

“Don’t.” I brace myself to push him away.

Instead of going for my lips, he goes for my neck, and I allow it knowing it can’t possibly lead to anything right here. I inhale deeply, surrendering, taking in the smell of him, drowning in it. When he pulls away, his rough cheek grazes mine, and I remember that feeling on my skin that night he did so much more than kiss me. I break out of his grasp and push around him to the car door.

“Tell me when you get tired, and I’ll take over. I can drive us through the night.” Avoiding a motel room with him seems like the best game plan.

“Because you know you can’t say no to me?”

“Because I don’t want to
have
to say no to you,” I answer truthfully.

“But you don’t have to say no to me.”

“But I will, if it comes to that.”

He lets me have the last word, but he remains smug. I don’t want to have to prove him wrong.

What seems like an instant later I open my eyes to Trey leaning over me taking off my seat belt. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

“Don’t wake up,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.” I take his hand and get out of the car. “I’m awake now.”

We’re in the parking lot of a small motel. He carries our bags while I follow him up the stairs to a room on the second level. He leaves me inside to go back for the duffle bags, and in his absence I throw on a tank top and boyshorts while brushing my teeth. By the time he’s back, I’m slipping under the covers of one of the two beds next to my bag and discarded clothes which I intentionally left on one side.

“Good night.” I turn off the lamp next to my bed.

“Good night.”

He stands at the foot of my bed, watching me, and I shut my eyes and try to ignore his heavy gaze that seems to caress my skin through the sheets. I can’t fall asleep until I hear his mattress groan under his weight and his lamp click off.