Page 11 of Hemlock

When he licks his own lips, I feel it on my skin, that delicate spot right below my ear that has always driven me crazy.

"Owen?" I prod when he seems content to just watch my mouth for the rest of eternity. "Lunch?"

"Busy," he snaps. "See ya around."

He climbs on his bike, leaving me standing there alone after the massive thing roars to life and he drives away.

Chapter 5

Hemlock

I knew the second I told her no that it was a mistake. Any fool knows that you can't get close to someone and figure out details about what you're looking for by keeping distance between you and them. But hell, she had no idea what happened inside of me when I reached out and touched her arm. I didn't even touch skin and it sent a zing of something too unfamiliar for me to deal with in public.

I can't glean information from her about Tommy Wilkinson or The Lost Kitten by running scared and hiding out.

Even the seclusion of riding alone on these switchback curves in the Smoky Mountains doesn't give me the relaxation I crave. Each turn makes me long for pressure at my back and fingernails gripping me around the waist. The distraction of those unfamiliar thoughts make me miss my turn, forcing me to travel a mile further up the road to turn around in a construction zone in order to get back to the house.

Before accepting the position with Cerberus, I spent weeks trying to convince myself that it was the right move to make in life. Then, I was willing to take anything short of becoming a criminal myself to escape it. Happiness, hearts, and butterflies will never be what I want out of life, so it makes no sense that I'm able to get lost. That silence is possible just being near a woman who is very likely either a victim of her circumstances or part of the mastermind behind whatever illegal business Wilkinson is running. No matter her place, it doesn't end with her being near me in order for me to use whatever it is about her that brings on the serenity that, until now, was only ever snuffed out by doing very bad things.

I want to keep on riding when I see the second bike in the driveway.

The last thing I need is a witness to this internal battle I can't seem to get past, but maybe it's for the best. I know it will definitely be easier if someone else tells Ace that this type of job isn't going to work for me. I sure as fuck know it'll be impossible for me to voice my own defeat. I'm not exactly known for my ability to stop digging once I've gotten myself into a hole.

Fresh mountain air fills my lungs as I climb off my bike, hating that this might not work out because it's fucking beautiful up here. The twists and turns of the roads keep me focused on making sure my bike stays on the road and away from the steep drop-offs which have the uncanny ability to quiet the voices in my head if only for a little while.

I stand with my hand on the front doorknob, vowing that I'll make this shit work. I have to find my place in the world because there are no other options. I fully regret not being able to make it work in New Mexico. At least there I had a mentor and a man who seemed to understand me. New Mexico wasn't the right fit because it's a group of men and women standing in the light, rescuing trafficked individuals. I just want to lurk in the darkness and hurt bad guys.

Here, I have Ace, who looks at me sometimes the way I figure he would one of the criminals he's arrested for doing evil things. Jericho, the fucker I know I'll find raiding the fridge inside, may be just as bad and fucked in the head as I am, but I haven't given myself the chance to get to know him. There are others working jobs and clearing the path for this new endeavor, and although I haven't met them, I know they'll be people I just won't want to be around. I can only hope they'll be people I can tolerate.

I have to make this work. I have to get close to Zara and find out everything she knows, and I need to do it quickly. Jericho's bike in the driveway means that he has already closed another case, whereas I haven't even pulled back the curtain on mine, much less gotten enough evidence to shut them down.

I don't have to look in a mirror to know my face is revealing all my annoyed emotions at the sight of Jericho's bare back as he stands in the open door of the refrigerator.

"Get the job done?" he asks without turning around to face me.

I should probably admit defeat, but instead, I remain silent.

When he turns around to face me, I take him in fully.

The scar on his face only adds to that don't-fuck-with-me vibe he has going on. The man looks ruthless, murderous, the type of man you'd never want to run across on a dark street. He looks like he chews nails for breakfast and uses the blood they cause ripping into the tender flesh of his cheeks to swallow them down.

He should probably scare the shit out of me, but I haven't found a single thing in life that puts fear inside of me. There are days when the thought of dying seems more like a reprieve than something to avoid.

"Working on it," I grunt.

He gives me a simple nod. He doesn't offer to try and fix my problem. He doesn't ask if he should step in and figure it out. He'll let me do my thing, and I'll let him do his.

We're equals as far as this new organization is concerned. There's no hierarchy, no boss. We're just a couple of soulless bastards trying to do a little good in the world.

The thing about Jericho is that he was eight months deep undercover in Nathan Adair's crew when he blew his cover to save a girl who was under the protection of the Cerberus MC. She just also happened to be the stepdaughter of the evil man. She knew her days were numbered, so he got her out of there and blew his cover.

Ace wasn't very impressed by that and Newton, the man in love with Brielle Adair, wasn't impressed with just how far Ace would be willing to let things go to try and capture a man like Adair. It was very likely that if Jericho hadn't stepped in, the woman would've been killed. Maybe the man isn't as bad as I first suspected him to be. The caveat is that Jericho is the one who kidnapped Brielle outside of the courthouse when she tried to slip away from the feds who were expecting her to testify against her stepfather later that day. So, I guess, technically, he's the one who put her in that situation in the first place.

Jericho closes the refrigerator door with only a bottle of water in his hands before taking a seat across from me at the bar.

We've been in this situation before, and neither one of us sees the need to fill the silence with chatter. I can respect a man who can sit in silence.

But, for some reason, quiet scratches at my skin like thorns.

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