Page 8 of The Beast's Betrayed Mate
“Almost home,” she said, unsure of what to say next or if she even should say anything. And so, they rode the final few blocks in silence.
Chapter 3 - Peter
The fear, now that it was fully remembered, was like an ink stain on his brain. It was soaking in and spreading. He thought he could see shapes in it. Forgotten things, repressed things, brought to the surface. He had been an unhappy kid and an even more miserable teenager. It had made him crave the release he felt whenever he took his frustration and anger out on others. He hadn’t so much as given it a second thought. How his words and actions caused others pain. Not until later and mainly through Michael’s chastising.
He wasn’t that guy anymore, but Olive had no way of knowing that since she’d been such a grade-A bitch from the get-go, wearing her attitude like some form of armor. Truth was that he hadn’t tried correcting her because shedidhave every right. Because, deep down, perhaps he felt like he deserved it. Like he wasn’t meant to make amends but to offer penance.
Only, now…
He really didn’t want to be alone. He was scared that the ink stain would slowly drive him mad. Surely, she was right and that huge dog he’d seen… had it been a dog? It hadn’t been that big. It couldn’t have been. If a dog that big was roaming the streets of Silverbay, someone would have reported it. It would’ve been on every news channel. It would probably have its own YouTube channel via its loving owner.
“Thanks,” he said once he’d opened the front door to his apartment. They were hovering on the threshold, him inside and her in the hallway. “I mean it,” he emphasized. “Thank you.”
She smiled then. It had this way of changing her face from this grown up he was working with and back into the young and eager student he’d once seen at classes and in the hallways at college.
“Will you be al—”
“Want coffee?” he interrupted because he couldn’t bring himself to admit to her that he wouldn’t be alright. He couldn’t admit to her that he felt like his world was having some sort of darkness creeping in, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
She seemed a little taken aback at the invitation, but then said, “Sure.”
She stepped through the door as he headed into his kitchen, hearing her shut the door behind her. She kicked off her boots and hung her jacket on the wooden clothes rack on the wall.
His apartment was all dark colors and comfort. Green walls, soft carpet on the hardwood floor, mustard yellow and deep burgundy and gold to break up the green. Leather armchairs and a glass coffee table with an aged iron frame. He had a working fireplace that he rarely used so he’d filled it with candles instead to save him the trouble of raking it out. And he had large prints on the walls, most of them from the 1920s because it was his favorite era. So much optimism, so much potential.
She ran a hand over the leather of one of the armchairs, looking around the place with appreciation. It was always satisfying when his tastes were somewhat surprising to people. He knew he came off as sterile and most who came over for a visit probably expected his home to be all stark white walls and minimalism.
She had a seat on the worn leather sofa that he’d thrifted while in college, pulling one of her legs up, wrapping her arms lazily around it. She looked effortlessly at home and he wondered at how welcome that sight was. She turned to him as he approached with two coffee cups. He handed one to her. “It’s instant,” he said apologetically. “I don’t have a coffee machine.”
She sighed deeply. “I wish you’d told me that before I said yes,” she shook her head, but she smiled as she brought the cup to her lips. “Instant’s all I drink.”
They sipped, the quiet stretching.
He knew she was going to feel compelled to ask questions if he didn’t start talking, because what was she even doing here? But he didn’t know what to say.
So, what came out of her mouth once she’d had another sip took him by surprise.
“Want to have a look at that USB?”
His eyes met hers, soft relief filling him that he wasn’t going to have to do it by himself. He got his laptop, retrieved the memory stick, plugged it in and had a seat next to her on the sofa.
He still wondered why she was there but feared that asking her, or even hinting that he was questioning her presence, would lead to her getting up and leaving. To avoid it he kept his mouth shut.
“Why do you think that your friend would be researching his own family?” she asked, scooting forward to get a better view of the screen. Her thigh brushed against his, her scent suddenly prevailing and so crystal clear in its composition it nearly went to his head. Notes of vanilla and underneath traces of sweat and skin and her. But there was also the particular notes of her coconut shampoo. And something salty and something a little sweet. He could practically taste her.
“Hello?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Are you okay?”
He laughed, shaking his head at himself, though he’d never experienced anything like what was happening in his nose at the moment. Or his mouth.
The thought made his gaze drift to her lips. He snapped himself out of it, directing his focus on the laptop as he said, “Um, I honestly have no idea. Michael’s family sort of… own MRM Pharma.”
Her eyebrows rose high. “Michael as in Michael Maynard?” she exclaimed, a hand at her mouth. “Wouldn’t his family know that he’s missing? Wouldn’t they have the FBI out searching for him already?”
Peter had to laugh again. “They’re not like that,” he said. “I mean, they’re stinking rich but they’re actually really nice. And a little flaky. Their father is… I mean, he does whatever catches his attention at the moment, pretty much. They’re not in touch every day. I doubt very much he knows that Michael might be missing.”
“Okay,” Olive said slowly. “So, big, important family and Michael might not know all of its secrets so he might be looking into it because he’s… learned something new and he wants to figure out if it’s true? A rumor, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Peter said, clicking on the file of the memory stick, having a row of about three hundred saved website links show up. This was going to take a while. He was about to click the first one when he stayed his hand. Getting to his feet he said, “You know, I don’t know if this is safe.”
