Page 38 of Ride with the Devil

Of course, he challenged me to one last game. I won it so easily that it was obvious heletme win, and while I appreciated the gesture, that took all the fun out of it. Besides, having an excuse to snuggle up next to Luca on the couch… I’m fucking shameless. I’ll take it, even if he won’t let me take him.

I’ve earned some freedom. He’s always upstairs. The cabin proper has four rooms: one that belongs to his buddy, a bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. We don’t go in his friend’s bedroom; well, Luca doesn’t. I’ve gotten used to the bathroom in the basement. The kitchen is for meals andour checker games. The living room is where the TV and the fireplace is.

No matter where I am, Luca can tell that I’m there. I’m still locked in the basement every night, but during the day when he’s awake? He let me stay upstairs. I’ve proven that I’m not going to run for the front door given the chance, and he’s stopped treating me like a captive.

Not like he ever really did. But it’s… it’s different now. We’re kind of like two people who met on vacation, got snowed-in together, and had no choice but to get along—and get to know each other—until we can leave again.

There’s snow on the mountain. It’s not enough to keep us trapped here, as much as I’d like to pretend otherwise. I know our days are dwindling down. Luca’s been receiving phone calls daily from the Sinners. He goes outside each time, but when he stays by the door, I can overhear enough to know that Devil’s ready for him to come back—with or without the liability.

Me. I’m the liability.

I ignore all that. I’m not ready to give up Luca yet. Not ready to poison him and leave him busied in the icy snow out back. I could. I mean, I’ve peeked outside once or twice. Luca even let us go on a walk around the cabin, showing off the wintry mountain.

That’s how I know that same town car is out there. Plus, there’s enough space behind the cabin to bury dozens of bodies with room to spare.

And, no, that’s not a morbid thought at all. That’s just the Humminbird peeking through…

I like not having to be the Hummingbird. I know I’ll have to return to the real world soon, but until Ihaveto, I’m gonna get my kicks while I can.

Including just how devious I am when I ask Luca about a new shipment of cucumbers, and instead of simply admitting they haven’t been delivered yet, he looks super fucking shady as heexplains that he’s been trying to replace mine but he hasn’t be able to.

Sorry, but I jump on the word ‘replace’.

“Replace? What happened to the other one?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“What I said, ace.” I arch my eyebrow at him. “Where’s my cuke?”

“I… ate it.”

“Did you at least peel it first?” Luca flushes, and I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, you’ve got a kinky side, don’t you? I never would’ve guessed.”

His flush deepens. “No. Not kinky. Just repressed.”

I stifle my laugh. He sounds so flat when he says that, it’s not as funny as it was two seconds ago.

He’s so repressed that he refuses to allow himself to be sexual with another person, but he… what? Tortures himself by watching me get my own rocks off, then somehow gets his hands on my used cucumber tosnackon?

I shouldn’t tease. That’s just being cruel.

Especially when he admits softly, “It’s not as easy as I make it look, abstaining the way that I do.”

Well, that’s a problem easily solved.

Scooting so that our thighs are touching on the couch, I run my fingers over his arm. “So don’t. I mean, if you’re ready to fuck, I can’t think of a better way to spend our time while your boss decides whether to kill me or not.”

His cheeks hollow.

Hm. Was it something I said?

Oh. Right. Probably my multiple blatant propositions to fuck him. Or, you know, the way I can’t keep myself from reminding him that we’re only together in the cabin because the Devil of Springfield wants me dead, but Luca offered to watch me and somehow convince me that I didn’t see shit that night instead…

I take my hand back. “Sorry. I know better than to be a pushy bitch. You said you were waiting, and I respect that. Your religion is obviously important to you”—even though it seems hypocritical to me that he’s agangster, but whatever—“and how you deal with it is your thing. I’ll be good. Promise.”

I took my hand back—and shoots his out, laying it on top of me, twisting my wrist gently so that he can intertwine my fingers with his.

My breath catches.

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