Page 39 of Lock Me Out

It’s easier—and probably safer—to pour some coffee and sit down at the table. I need the caffeine; sleep wasn’t easy to come by last night. Not like I was wracked with guilt or anything like that, but the whole situation was strange. I’ve gotten used to being alone. Going from learning how to sleep through fightsnext door and a baby crying upstairs to trying to sleep in a silent apartment was awkward.

Colt turns the chair across from mine backward and straddles it, setting his cup on the table. “I have to admit, I never saw us doing this again.”

Looking across the table at my brother brings hundreds of mornings to mind. Having breakfast together the way we did so many things together. Most of the time, we ate without saying a word. We didn’t need to talk. We understood each other.

Besides, what the hell is there for kids to talk about? Retirement accounts? The weather? The thought makes me snicker before taking a gulp of my coffee. “Neither did I,” I admit.

“I mean, I knew you were alive.”

“I can’t tell whether you’re gloating or what when you keep saying that.”

“I’m not gloating.” When I narrow my eyes, he rolls his. “Okay, I might be gloating a little bit. But I think I deserve it. I’m the only one who believed you were alive when no one else did.”

“The whole point was for nobody to know.”

“They don’t know you like I do. I knew you would make it out of there in time.”

“I almost didn’t,” I remind him in a quiet voice.

“Well, there was Bradley’s disappearance, too,” he admits, looking down into his mug. “It seemed like too big a coincidence to really be a coincidence, if you know what I mean. I knew there had to be something else going on.”

“Maybe you just didn’t want to believe it,” I point out. “That would be okay, too.”

“Anyway, it’s a waste of time to talk about it because here you are.”

“Yeah, and I just made both your lives a lot more complicated. No, let me say this,” I insist when it’s obvious he wants to cut me off. “I’ve done a lot of awful shit in my life, but dragging you two into the mess I made would be the worst. You know I’m right.”

“Don’t tell me what I know.”

“And stop being so fucking stubborn,” I mutter. “Nothing pisses me off more than when you act like you don’t see what’s in front of you. This is reality. I killed two people, and a third one is in my grave. I killed another two people last night,” I continue. That one, he can’t help but wince at. That one, he witnessed. “You don’t need this. Leni sure as hell doesn’t. She’s been through enough.”

“So, what? You’re going to be the big hero now? Sacrificing yourself for everybody?”

“I didn’t say that. Walking into the police station isn’t in my plans.” Looking down at the mug, I spin it in place on the table. “I’m not turning myself in, so don’t worry about that. But they could track me somehow—you know they could.”

“Not if you’re careful.”

“So, what do you think I’m going to do? Stay locked in this apartment day in, day out, for the rest of my life? Because that’s the only way I could stay here and not risk getting discovered and traced back to you.”

“Last night, you said you live in a pit.” Dammit, now he decides he’s going to listen to me and remember the shit I say. “Why would you decide to go back there if you don’t have to?”

There’s no chance for me to tell him to mind his own damn business before Leni’s soft footsteps ring out down the hall. It’s actually kind of funny, the way he quickly smooths out his expression, like he doesn’t want her to see him so stressed. She’s not a child—she knows what’s going on. He wants to protect her from that. I guess I can relate. There’s a lot I would like to protect her from, too.

Starting with myself.

Her gaze darts away as soon as it lands on me, and the color in her cheeks tells me she’s either embarrassed or pissed off. Maybe both. Her reaction has an interesting effect on me: on the one hand, I can understand it. If anything, the way she can’t let it go and pretend nothing is wrong makes me respect her more. She’s not a pushover; she’s not weak. I always knew she had strength in her, but now I see it.

On the other hand, I’ve killed for her. I put myself in danger for her, exposed myself to outsiders who thought I was dead. That was a huge risk—something could’ve gone wrong. I didn’t even stop to think about what it might mean for me. I went after her. I called Colt for her sake, and I took a punch to the jaw for it. I think that earns me at least a little forgiveness.

“Are you guys going back there?” She asks with her back turned while she pours herself coffee, but there’s tension in every line of her body. Her shoulders are up close to her ears, her jaw clenched until she practically has to force the words out.

“We have to,” I reply while looking at my brother for confirmation. “We can’t leave the bodies where they are.”

“Do me a favor and don’t talk about it in front of me, okay?” Dipping a spoon into the mug, she stirs like the coffee did something to offend her. “The less I know, the better.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” When Colt gets up and wraps his arms around her from behind, the strangest feeling washes over me. No, it doesn’t wash over—it hits me like a truck. There’s no way to describe it more gently than that. It’s one thing to watch him fuck her when we’re taking turns, and my cock is in her mouth. It’s another thing to witness this intimacy. Like they’re a real couple, which I guess they are from the way he’s described it.

What is this feeling? It’s not anger. I don’t hold it against him.

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