Page 67 of What Remains

“Oh hell no. No way are you buying my shit.”

“Consider it on my mum. She’s loaded. Actually, Dad is, too, but you’d never know it.”

“Not happening.” I take hold of her hips and physically lift her up and reposition her out of the way from the register. “I pay for my own shit, got it?” Realizing where my hands are, I remove them, then punch in my number to bill it to my room.

“Such a guy,” she says under her breath as I shove the stuff I really didn’t need, aside from the boxer-briefs, into a bag.

“I savagely murdered people a day and a half ago, and here I am, bagging my own underwear.”

“I’d hardly call what you did savage. More so well-deserved.”

At the realization I must’ve said that out loud and not in my head, I drop the bag onto the floor. “The things I wish I had the chance to do to those men are savage, trust me.” I bend down and pick up the heavy bag. “Is that too much information?” I face her, worried she might be thinking about the island now.

“Hardly TMI.” She smiles. Thank God her happy mood appears to still be intact. “Maybe not first-date material, though. Not that we’re on one, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I swallow as her eyes lock on to mine, and something unspoken passes between us. I need to shut this down fast.

I come up with the best distraction I can think of. “Now, what do you want, and we’ll add it to my tab?”

“Stickers, but they don’t sell them here. And the rig is free, courtesy of Carter, so . . .” She playfully pats my chest before she starts for the closed doors, only to abruptly stop. “Oh wait, we forgot your hat. Or maybe it’s Constantine’s. Either way, I forgot it on the table.” She takes off and grabs it for me, and with the bag in hand, I meet her halfway.

I hide my messy hair under the plain black cap but keep the brim facing forward this time. I need something to shield my eyes as much as I can since I can’t seem to stop staring at her this morning. I gesture with my bag for the exit. “Lead the way.”

She walks ahead of me to open the doors, and I peer at the camera. Knowing Malachi is watching me, I bow my head, like he can read the mess in my mind as well as on my face.

I know, I know. But I can’t. Not with her. Not ever.

I’ll need to fly solo for the rest of my damn life, because I’ll never let anyone be a runner-up to her. And I know I won’t ever meet another woman who makes me feel the way she does.

CHAPTER 22

Easton

“Feels so cold, sterile, and impersonal,” she murmurs, shutting the laptop. Her shoulders dip in a way that guts me. She shouldn’t have to rebuild anything.

This is also the shift I was afraid of. Clothes were the distraction she needed. But this room drags her right back into Jezebel’s hands.

“It’ll take a little time to get used to, that’s all.” I fold my arms, resting my lower back against a nearby table of techy shit. “You have everything saved on your hard drive, right? You can reload it? Sync it? Whatever it’s called.” I lift my chin toward the laptop resting beneath her palm. “And I’ll get you some new stickers, don’t worry.”

“Yes and yes.” She slowly faces me. “And yes to the stickers.” A partial smile slips across her full mouth, but it’s forced, which unnerves me. “I assume Carter gave you a new mobile and digits, too?”

I push away from the table. “He did.”

“Well, care to share your new number? Or do I need to find it out for myself?”

My stomach does this stupid little drop when she asks that, and it beats the hell out of me as to why.

“Easton?” She raises her brows.

Right. I grab my phone, type in the passcode, and give it to her. “I guess you can have it. But no texting me at odd hours about random things like you used to.”

“I only text you on the even ones.” She winks.

Of course she made that joke. Though, knowing her, it’s probably true.

Her last late-night text came the first week in December while I was still staying at my dad’s. It was about why coffee really is better than tea, but to never let her British family know she said that. My response? I think your secret’s already out.

Not gonna lie, I actually missed those texts while I was undercover, and I’d never admit I was grateful they hadn’t stopped when I moved out, even if I always had mixed reactions to her messages. Whenever a notification from her flashed across my screen, I’d smile. After that, I’d feel guilty about both the crash and moving out of the hotel.