Page 28 of Brazen Deceits

What if I really was just a mindless fuck?

Looking at Walker, locked between fury and grief, I see the same emotions reflected at me, framed by the way he leans forward, fists clenched, eyes glassy. The silence is alive withmore: words, rage, or sorrow, I don’t know, but it ripples like a kite on a string.

Only, one thing I promised myself during those long days of soul searching was that I’m done keeping the peace. If I fuck up, I’ll own it. But otherwise? I’m done fixing shit I didn’t even break.

Walker’s staring at me like I’ve taken his favorite toy and lit it on fire. And maybe I have.

The longer we pause in this moment, the more I feel my resolve falter. Maybe if he understood how important it is that I choose for myself? Maybe if I told him how much last night meant to me? I can fix this. I know I can.

My mind whirs, digging for the right words to smooth things over, but before they form, the oven chimes in the kitchen.

Walker turns away, blinking at the heavy dark outside my window. Then, with one rub across his face, he wipes away the anger, the hurt, leaving the smug smile of a stranger grinning back at me. “Dinner’s in ten,” he says, sauntering out of the room like he didn’t just snap off the fledgling wings of our something more.

I force myself to close the door behind him, my feet heavy on the floor. If he wants to pretend we’re nothing to each other, that we might fuck occasionally, but God forbid we have feelings about it, well, maybe I can play that game too.

Because I made a vow during those few weeks here alone in my room: I’m killing off the parts of myself that no longer fit, the shrunken sweaters that have locked me into an imperfectly perfect shape for years. And the girl who wants to runout into the hallway crying, begging for forgiveness? She’s going to be my first victim.

So if that’s who Walker wants? Then I guess he’s shit out of luck. Because she’s bleeding out on the floor right now, and I don’t plan on offering her even one fucking Band-Aid. Bye-bye, good girl Clara.

I’ve let my beast out of her cage, and she’s wild, ready to fight. My claws are out, my teeth are bared. And I’m no kept kitten.

Chapter 14

Jansen

I’m pretty sure I have the brief memorized, but I read it one last time, wanting to have it all in my head before I go downstairs. My mind is buzzing, looking for issues, for holes, for moments I can exploit. Not that I particularly want to compete, but if I’m going to, I want to know all the ways I can win, and all the ways I can lose. Losing sucks, and leads to jail time, which sucks for all kinds of reasons. I’m not doing that to my mom again.

The chime of the oven chirps from downstairs, so I bound down to help Walker get everything plated. He’s been cagey all day, and I keep trying to get him to cheer up, but he seems determined to be a grump. Usually Trips has that role, so I’m not exactly sure how to fix it.

Only once before was Walker this dreary. I’d warned him about Tammy. He didn’t listen. And boy, did it suck when hefigured out he was nothing but a booty call, and the third choice at that.

This feels the same, but I’ve seen the looks Clara’s been giving him—she’s worried, so she’s not the problem. He’s always moody, but this is bigger somehow. I waltz into the kitchen, wondering just how bad Walker is.

He’s got his back to me, pulling a pot roast out of the oven, my small pan of tofu and veggies following. I hop up on the counter, swinging my legs. “Hey. Need any help?” I ask.

He doesn’t turn toward me, pulling plates and utensils out. “I’ve got it.”

“Are we eating at the island or in the living room?”

“We only have four stools. I think we’re stuck with the living room.”

I laugh, hopping down and reaching around him to pull down cups. “Pot roast on the couch. First time for everything.”

He doesn’t answer, so I sneak a look at his face. And it’s blanketed in rage.

I set down the plates, reaching for his shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?”

He turns to me, his face a cloud of fear and pain, but it vanishes so quickly that if I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think I imagined it. He smiles and shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ll bring out the food. You’ve got the plates?”

I wait, giving him a chance to break character, to feel rather than pretend everything is okay. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns back to the food, basting everything in the pan one last time before dishing it onto a fancy ceramic platter. Hecouldn’t tell me to get lost any more clearly. Only I can’t decide if I should do what he wants or push.

I’ve had to run interference often enough with Trips that I usually know which way to wind someone to get them back to normal. But with Walker? He’s got his emotions tied into their proper little boxes, and I’ve never had a reason to cut the strings.

But he’s never straight up conned me like this before either. And I don’t like it.

I pick up the plates, pile on some forks and knives, and march them to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. I’d been focused before, but now I’m jittery and anxious. Luckily, I finally found someone to ease the electricity that always has me moving, so I cut through the kitchen to the back hall, my heart rate spiking just thinking about seeing Clara again.

I make it just past her bathroom door before Walker grabs my arm, dragging me back to the kitchen. “Don’t,” he says, fury sneaking out behind his mask.

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