Page 79 of Fire

She didn’t hesitate before slipping her hand in his. And for some reason that pissed him off. “So trusting,” he sneered. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to accept candy from strangers?”

She stood, tipping her head to the side. Reading him. Judging him. “I think you’re purposely trying to scare me, so I’ll run before you have to share anything.”

“Let’s save the analyzing for my shrink,” he spat.

If he’d hoped to offend her with his harsh words, he should have known it wouldn’t work. She laughed. “Do you have one?”

He shook his head slowly, smiling at her tenacity, and her ability to see right through him. Anger gone as quickly as it had arrived, he answered, “I did. For six years.”

She squeezed his hand and surprised him again by saying, “Good.”

Awed, all he could manage was to shake his head again before walking her upstairs. Stepping into the bedroom, he turned on the light.

Releasing her hand, he continued forward a few paces before stopping, observing the room before him. “I said I like dark colors because they’re easy to match. That wasn’t completely true. It’s because that’s how I’ve always felt inside. Dark. Stark. Barren. The only color I’ve allowed myself to feel is red. The red of blood and fire.”

He closed his eyes and remembered the joy of striking the match that created so much red. The pleasure he got watching it spread, consuming all the evil.

“I don’t understand,” Gwen said, pulling him from the memory.

He turned and saw she was closer than he’d thought she’d be. Not hovering by the door, preparing for a fast getaway, no, his Gwen had walked right into the lion’s den, ready to tame the wild beast.

“You will.” He gave her a soft smile, and unable to resist, he traced a finger down the side of her face. But that was all he would allow himself. He dropped his hand then shoved both into his front pockets, clenching his fists. He needed to keep his distance until she knew the real him. Then it would be up to her whether she could bear his touch or not.

Some things were easier said not knowing there was an audience. With that in mind, he gave her his back and stepped farther into the room, putting more distance between them. He would start with the one person who he’d done it all for—Sissy.

“My sister wasn’t always as she is now. She was happy once. We both were.”

When he paused for too long, he heard her ask, “What happened to change that?”

“We grew up.” He took a deep breath. “It’s funny how even though we knew no better, we still realized what was done to us was wrong.”

“And what was done to you?” She spoke in a whisper as if afraid to ask because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Smart girl.

“We were groomed for the specific roles we’d fulfill. As a boy, I learned to hunt, provide,use. We were the takers. Girls learned to cook, nurture, please. They were the givers.”

“Hang on, you’re speaking in plurals. Was it not just you and your sister? Do you have other siblings?”

He balled his fists tighter, his arms straining under the pressure. He’d always wondered if any of the others shared his father’s DNA, but he didn’t think even his father knew. “None others that I know of, but it’s always a possibility.”

“Blake, you’re not making sense. You’re talking in riddles.”

He could hear the frustration in her voice and knew his time was running short. If he didn’t spit it out, she would leave anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he removed his hands from his pockets and pulled his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. He started to unbutton it, each button slipping through its hole feeling like a nail sealing his coffin. Because if Gwen left him, he would be dead inside. More so than when he destroyed the people who gave him life. At least then, he’d had a spark of hope left. Gwen would extinguish even that.

Releasing the last button, he parted his shirt, hitching his shoulders. As if in slow motion, he felt the material fall. Sliding down the skin of his back. The sleeves gliding down his arms until the inky fabric swallow his hands, and then his fingertips.

The material floating down, down, down…

And then he heard her gasp, like a gunshot straight to his heart, as he watched his shirt hit the floor.

Chapter 20

Seconds ticked away, the silence growing so thick, Blake was nearly choking on it. He almost left—thought about picking up his shirt and walking out of the room. But then he felt her breath hit his back followed by a barely-there touch, tracing the edge of thick scar tissue.

His heart beat so hard, he felt its thudding in his chest and its echo through his head. His hands were clammy, but he resisted the urge to wipe them on his slacks, not wanting to move a muscle.

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