Page 91 of Under the Lies

Was it for me or was it for my sister. I almost don’t want Noah to answer, for fear of the latter.

But it’s that damn Achilles heel of mine, my budding inquisitiveness.

Noah takes a swig of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid between us while his lips glisten with unclaimed alcohol. I want to drink it from them. “Why do you think?”

“If I was fine with assumptions, I wouldn’t have asked.” I level him a stare. “I want you to tell me.”

“Demanding little thing tonight, aren’t you?”

“Will you tell me?” I roll a cotton ball between my fingers.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He shrugs. “We had a deal.”

“Bullshit,” I call, despite the seed of disappointment taking root inside me.

Noah’s brow raises. “Oh, is it?”

“It is,” I whisper. “I think you did it for something more. Something else.”

“And why’s that?” He’s still jazzed from the fight, but his movements are controlled, almost painfully, as he again takes a pull from the bottle. I didn’t see how much was in it when he picked it up, but it’s almost empty now.

“Because I don’t think you believe he knows where my sister is. And I think you’re desperate enough to find out who’s after me.”

He shifts on the couch, scooting closer so our knees are interlocked. He moves a hand up my thigh as he leans in close. “I can’t have anyone hurt you.” I suck in a breath as he wraps a piece of my hair around his finger. “And if Seamus has the answers, I’m going to get them.”

“Why?” I’m desperate to know. “Why are you doing this all for me?”

He leans in even closer, close enough for me to smell the whiskey on his tongue. “Don’t take me to be your hero.”

Slowly, Noah leans back and drains the rest of the whiskey before placing the empty bottle on the table next to my thigh. His cool fingers brush against me in the process bringing a weight to my chest and a pulse between my legs. A simple touch. He can do so much to my body with a single touch.

I take the cotton ball still in my hand and focus on my task. Cleaning his wounds. I’m about to dab it on the split skin above his eye when Noah’s hand shoots up, grabbing my wrist before I can make contact with his skin.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, huskily. The sound washes over me. “Taking care of me.”

I bite my lip. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

He still holds my wrist, keeping it suspended between us. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t feel it.”

It doesn’t. “Do you feel anything?”

He raises his split brow. “Is that really the question you want to ask, Sayer?”

Maybe it’s the way he says my name, a dare waiting, or maybe it’s because this has been on my mind since the night Noah came back into my life, but I feel the seal on my lips break, wanting to know the answers to questions I’ve been too afraid to ask.

“Do you hate me like you hate my sister?”

A pause. But his thumb moves in slow circles on my wrist. “No.”

I hold my breath, waiting for more. Needing more.

“No, I don’t hate you, Sayer.” I feel him press against me. “I hate how you make me feel.”

Ba-bump. Ba-ba-bump.

“How do I make you feel?” I ask, quietly.

“Crazy. Alive.” Noah’s grip tightens on my wrist. “Like the light has finally returned to my dark life. Like I need to protect you when all I want is to destroy you myself.”

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