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Three days I’d been terrified but had done nothing to stop him. Not from getting into bed with me, not from fucking me, not from asking me questions or him telling me about his life.
I needed to but I knew I wasn’t going to.
What I won’t do is wonder why I didn’t listen, because that woman in there deserves to know what it feels like to have someone care about her. Her. Not what she can do. Not mold her into what they want. Not use her for their benefit. Genuinely care about her. And if I can give that to her for a day, a week, a month, then whatever hurt she lands on me will have been worth it.
What could I say, the walls in the Luxor house had been thin. I hadn’t listened to Smith and Easton’s conversation on purpose but I didn’t, say, go into the bathroom and get into the shower in an attempt to drown out the conversation. I was me, the mediator. Old habits die hard and I’d been taught knowledge was power.
Unfortunately in this case knowledge might be my downfall.
If I could go back to being ignorant, in this case I would.
For three days I couldn’t stop thinking about what Easton had told Smith. It was selective in the sense I’d also heard what Smith had said about Black being based in Wyoming and Silver in Maryland. Not that location was an issue since I was moving to Greece. But I was ignoring the one statement in that whole conversation that, if not locked away in my brain and marked ‘do not enter!’ could be cataclysmic: and then there were the lies I’d have to tell and I wasn’t willing to lie to the woman I loved.
I’d spent my whole life being lied to, then as an adult learning how to master lying. I wasn’t sure if I’d know what honesty looked like if it came with a label and smacked me in the face.
At this point in my life, I didn’t think I was capable of telling the truth—period.
“Whatcha thinking about, baby?” Easton asked as he pushed one arm under my shoulders and used his other hand to grab my elbow to roll me into him.
This he’d done every night when he’d gotten back from taking care of the condom. After that first time, he’d used protection. And there had been seven times, not including the first.
That night in Luxor he’d come back with my grilled cheese and we sat on the bed eating—him the old, cold one, me the fresh, warm one. When we were done, he’d done exactly what he’d promised—fucked me within an inch of my life, then we showered, and he didn’t leave my room.
The first night back in Maryland he took his time, fucked me breathless but not into a coma. He waited until day two to do that. Morning sex, slow and lazy. Nighttime sex, fast and wild. Same with day three. Only this afternoon he’d added a lunchtime quickie which included him eating me for desert and fucking me bent over in the kitchen since Smith had gone into the office and we had the house all to ourselves. The house being one of Zane’s safehouses, though it was no longer safe in the sense it had been used twice before so it was going on the market. He was selling it, and in the process of purchasing a new one. Incidentally I was staying in the house Bridget had stayed in when she was waiting to testify and under witness protection.
I rested my cheek on his bare chest then proceeded to be stupid.
It couldn’t be said I wasn’t fully participating in my downfall. I totally was. Every night I snuggled into Easton like I had the right, like he was mine, and I was keeping him.
My stupidity led me to placing my hand on his abs. My after-sex coma was starting to set in, which was what I blamed the rest on.
“I was thinking about when I move to Greece I want to buy a bike. It’s going to be the most girly bike on the island. I’m thinking white frame and hot pink basket on the front to carry groceries and hot, sparkly pink tassels. Though I might settle on a wicker basket because those are pretty, too.”
“Come again?”
“If I can’t find an island that’s outlawed cars, and admittedly, I don’t know if that’s a thing but I hope it is because I think it would be awesome living somewhere where there are no cars. But if I can’t find that, I just won’t buy one.”
“No, baby, back up. You’re moving to Greece?”
“Yep. Right after I slit Maddon’s throat.”
I hadn’t been paying attention so I couldn’t be sure when it happened exactly but Easton’s body had gone solid.
My desire to kill Maddon wasn’t a secret nor was my skill to get the job done.
“You know I’ve—”
“When were you planning on telling me you’re moving to Greece?”
Um…
“Or were you just planning on up and disappearing.”
That sounded more like an accusation than a question.
My temper simmered just under the boiling over point.
“I didn’t know my future living arrangements were your business,” I snapped.
