Page 50 of Revenge

“So you can knock me on the back of the head? I don’t think so.” He presses his weight harder against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

I fight back the retort that’s brewing on the tip of my tongue and turn my back to him.

Asshole!

I change as best I can without showing him anything. Whiskey and tobacco float off the fabric and I know I’m wearing yet another one of Asher’s shirts. Even though I’m pissed at the asshole, I can’t deny I love the smell of him.

“Meet me in the livin’ room.” He pushes off the wall and heads down the hall to the stairs. He gets about halfway and stops to call out, “Want a beer, Charlee?”

“No. I’ll take a shot of whiskey, though.” Anything to make him take longer and give me a chance to sneak out.

“Sure thing.” He nods, and I listen to his footsteps until they disappear into the distance.

Once I’m sure he’s far enough away, I creep down the stairs as quietly as I can until I reach the front door. My head whips around, scanning the room, but Carl’s still busy fixing our drinks in the kitchen. I hold my breath and twist the knob, hoping it doesn’t make a sound. Every second feels like an eternity as I struggle with the damn thing. A beat later it gives and the knowledge that I’m almost free is bittersweet. The minute the door opens, I make a move to run for it, but a deep voice scares the shit out of me.

“Don’t even think about it, Charlee. I’ll be on you before you can make it to the door and then you’ll spend the rest of the night mad I hog-tied your ass. Not to mention, you almost ended up as some coyote’s dinner last time.”

“Ugh!” Foiled, I storm off into the living room and plop down on the couch without sparing him a glance.

Carl strolls into the living room with a beer in one hand and my shot in the other. He stops in front of me and holds it out like I didn’t just throw a temper tantrum. “Here. This should help you feel better.”

“Thanks.” I toss back the whiskey in one go and let the warmth of it burn through me as I watch Carl sit in the recliner across from the couch and pick up the remote.

“Want to watch a little TV?” When I don’t spare him an answer, he presses. “Charlee?”

“Fine.” I drop the shot glass on the table and glare up at the flat screen. “Put on whatever you want then.”

A corner of his mouth lifts into a slight grin. “Asher’s so fucked.”

I open my mouth to snap back, but the opening credits on the TV stop me. “Lucifer?” My eyebrows quirk up as I shoot him a look. Never thought that he would pick that, but it’s one of my favorite shows, so he’ll get no complaints from me.

“The devil you know and all that, right?” He shrugs and takes a swig of his beer.

“Right, and I’m sure Chloe Decker isn’t hard to look at.” There’s no controlling my eye roll.

“She’s a hot piece, but it’s Linda who really does it for me.”

“The doctor?” I wasn’t expecting that answer. I guess Carl is full of surprises tonight.

“She’s hot and smart. That’s a fantasy come to life right there.” He points the tip of the amber bottle in my direction as his dark eyes glisten. “Judging by your face that’s not who you were expecting me to say. You telling me you’re not a fan of hers?”

“She’s okay, I guess.”

“Let me guess. You got a hard-on for Lucifer?”

“He’s hot, but I’m more of a Mazikeen fan.” I sink deeper into the couch and sigh. It’s obvious I’m not going anywhere, so I might as well get comfortable, and I won’t admit it to Carl but wearing this t-shirt was a good call.

“Figures you’d pick the badass brunette.” He never takes his eyes off of me as he props his feet up on the coffee table and lounges back against the leather.

I shake my head and laugh. At least if I’m going to be stuck here, I’m in good company. While the opening credits play, I take the opportunity to really study him. He’s definitely good looking. His white shirt is a compliment to his dark skin. Much like Asher, his muscular arms are covered in tattoos. There’s one of a snake that winds up his neck and disappears just under his jawline. There’s a rough edge to him that’s all too familiar.

“Asher met you in prison, didn’t he?” My fingers toy with the hem of my shirt.

The muscles of his throat bob as he takes his time swallowing another sip of his beer, no doubt to stall answering my question. “He did.”

“Interesting.” My teeth dig into my bottom lip to keep from pressing him for more information. It’s not my place to ask.

“I can see the wheels spinnin’ in that pretty head of yours. I’m not gonna spew a bunch of bullshit to you and proclaim my innocence. I was guilty as fuck for what I did, and I’d do it again.”

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