Page 10 of The Girl and the Cobra

I don’t even care if he thinks I’m upset over the Jordan talk—I am. Jordan is a sore subject for me in many different ways, apparently. I knew we’d talk about him eventually, but I didn’t think… God, I never thought we’d talk about him possibly manipulating me.

Jordan would’ve never.

Did he?

As I hurry out of the office, I mentally wrestle with that question. Reframing everything now, with hindsight, with everything I know today—everything Jordan was capable of—maybe Dr. Wolf isn’t far off the mark.

Maybe Jordan manipulated me my whole life and I never knew it.

The moment I step out of Dr. Wolf’s office, my legs come to a half as the door swings shut on its own behind me. My heart feels like it’s putting an ungodly amount of pressure on my chest, and all I can do is stand there and wonder if, perhaps, there was a side to Jordan that I was blind to all this time.

No. No way. Jordan wasn’t… he wasn’t like that.

But what if—

I feel like I want to pull my hair out. I can’t think straight. I need some air. Some alone time. Privacy. And so, instead of going to the bathroom, I decide to go outside—only I don’t go to the front, where Dr. Wolf might hear me or even see me out the window in the office. I head deeper into the house, not really knowing where I’m going as I search for a backdoor.

Fortunately for me, the house, though large, is pretty straightforward. I end up finding a back patio just off the ridiculously-huge kitchen, and as quietly as I can, I slip out. Every muscle in my body is upset with me, and I labor to get to the nearest wicker chair, collapsing onto it just in time.

I don’t like talking about Jordan, but more than that, I don’t like the suggestion Dr. Wolf made. It’s upsetting in more than one way. A part of me—the part that’s still loyal to Jordan’s memory, as stupid as it is—is insulted Dr. Wolf would dare suggest Jordan manipulated me. But another part of me is frozen in anxiety as I wonder if, perhaps, it’s true.

I lean forward and place my head in my hands as I attempt to keep my breathing under control. This is not how I thought today would go, not at all.

Chapter Six – Tristan

I sit on the top step of the stairwell, so I see when she comes. I watch as she goes into the office, where Wolf is already waiting for her. I don’t know why I sit there, but I do, even when I can’t hear or see anything for a while.

Will I sit there the entire time she’s here? Maybe. It isn’t like I have anything better to do. Wolf has kept my world immeasurably small—for good reason, but after a while it does get tiring.

I perk up like a damn dog when I see her come out. The door closes behind her, and though I can only see her feet from where I’m sitting, I know she’s standing there, motionless. If I have to guess, I’d say Wolf told her something she didn’t want to hear.

Trust me, I’d know all about that. The man has told me a lot of things that made me wish I could take a knife and plunge it into his chest, directly into his heart like the master assassin I used to be.

But, to his credit, I don’t think of murder with quite the same frequency anymore.

After a few moments, she takes off, except she doesn’t go toward the front door; she heads deeper into the house, like she’s desperately trying to get away from Wolf and whatever he said. I assume she can’t just hop in the car and leave; someone drives her here, though I don’t know who.

Wolf didn’t see her go. Now is my chance. Probably my only chance. Though it’s the last thing I should do, I could get up and find her—and if Wolf comes around, my excuse would be an easy one: I’m with her just to make sure she’s okay. Wolf couldn’t get too pissed at that, could he?

I shouldn’t. There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t get up and find her. I have no reason to speak with her, no reasonat all to want to see her. Hell, I don’t know why I waited for her to arrive for her appointment. I don’t know her. Maybe I’m only curious because she’s kind of like a portal to the outside world, a world I haven’t seen in a long, long time.

I could sit there and debate with myself forever, but to do so would be to waste time, so I mentally say,fuck it, and I get up and noiselessly move down the stairs. Entering forbidden territory, but like I mentioned before, I have an excuse ready.

Through the house I go, checking the rooms as I pass them. It’s not long at all before I walk into the kitchen and happen to see her sitting in one of the chairs outside on the patio through the large windows on the house’s back end. I move to the back door. She left it open; it’s a slider, so I could walk right out and she wouldn’t hear.

I hold in a breath. I shouldn’t go out there. This is a bad idea. I’m not… I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready for something like this. On a country-wide list of severely fucked up individuals, I must be pretty damn close to the top.

I killed people—and not just any people, but my parents. My family’s butler. I killed family friends, and that’s ignoring the people I killed as an assassin. I cut out a man’s tongue and kept it in a jar because I didn’t like what the fucker said to my sister. I would have killed so many more if Shay would have sided with me. If she chose me.

But she didn’t, and my love for my sister was my ultimate downfall.

This, whatever this is, whatever it could be, could only end in disaster. Being here, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am not a man who will ever see a happy ending. My life is purgatory, plain and simple. I’m in the grave I dug for myself and there’s no way out of it.

So, no, I shouldn’t go out there with her. I shouldn’t speak to her. I shouldn’t want to.

But I do.

I step outside and move toward the chair on the other side of the table the girl sits at. I’m purposefully not quiet about it, so she hears me, and she turns her head and watches as I sit down three feet away. I don’t look at her. I stare out at the small grassy clearing just beyond the patio.

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