Page 3 of Echoes of Nevermore
“So, it’s both then?”
“What?” Needing to move and have something to release the anxiety building up in my body, I flatten my palm against the fingers of my other hand, pushing them until the knuckles pop.
Nevermore stands, reaching past me, and sets his cup on an old windowsill that has been painted over. “You like to watch and be watched, don’t you, Crow,” he says in a low, rough voice inches away from my ear. His finger brushes my hair away from my face and behind my ear, lightly dragging his thumb along my jawline. He cups my chin, holding my gaze. My mouth is dry. I should tell him to stop, rip his fingers off, but his skin on mine feels right and so very very wrong. A delicious mix of sin and innocence.
“Crow?” I somehow manage to push my question from my parched lips.
He nods to the crow tattoo on my right arm, his eyes flicking to my inner forearm. I hold it out for him to see it better, and he takes my arm in his hand, running his rough fingertips along the tip of a wing. “Nice work,” he admires. Shivers run up my arm, and I swear they sink into my soul. My core aches as his fingers trace every line like he’s etching them into his memory and searing them deeper into my skin.
“Oh, erm. Your ride is ready.” Tea mumbles in an uncomfortable tone, standing a few feet away from us. I must have been so deep in thought that I didn’t notice he had finished with my car. I bring my attention to his face and muster up a very uneasy smile. His cheeks burn with embarrassment. Even though I can’t see my own reflection, judging by the sudden rush of heat to my face, he isn’t the only one blushing. Nevermore withdraws his hands, and I bite my lip, wishing his fingers were still against my skin.
Burning me.
Ruining me.
Leaving a trail of fire and desire in their wake.
“You did a great job, I’m sure. Thank you, Tea.” I lay it on thick. I should set the record straight, put this Nevermore guy in his place, but I won’t. I linger on his accusing words and curious touch, his eyes burning into mine with anticipation.
It’s close to Halloween, and seeing the masks this time of year unlocks something sinister in my brain. Something I’ve never admitted to anyone, usually not even to myself. It’s sick. I know. But he’s right. The thought of someone wanting someone else so much that they can’t live without that person is probably unsettling to most people. I’m not most people. I guess it goes back to the Prince Charming mindset that is drilled into little kids’ minds. I want that. No. I need that kind of desire. Maybe then I would feel alive again. Maybe I would end up dead. I don’t know, but one thing is for damned sure—Scott doesn’t make me feel alive. Every time he glares at me, I can practically feel his hate squeezing the air from my lungs. Each insufferable word to escape his lips erases another year off my life.
Nevermore’s mouth pulls into a knowing smirk, and even though I know it isn’t possible, for a second, I wonder if he can read the dirty thoughts circling around in my head. The ones that have always been there, lying dormant, hibernating inside me. The menacing desires I’ve tried so hard to ignore. The ones that he pulled from their graves and breathed life into without knowing it.
Chapter 2
Nevermore
I sit behind the desk, mindlessly thumbing through receipts to pass the time. Another day in B.F.E., West Virginia. Another day without her. It’s been years since our paths crossed, but even when they had, she didn’t know me. Her eyes lingered longer than they should have on my face, but they didn’t ignite with recognition the way I know they would if she would just remember.
To her, I am a stranger. The memories of what happened when we were kids have since been long forgotten. She forgot me, but I’ll never forget her. I can’t.
Tea is outside fumbling around with the lift system. He’s a bit noisier than usual today. Chatting randomly about nothing just to have something to say, if I had to guess. There’s a woman. Anytime Tea is running that mouth of his, there’s usually a woman close by. Either that or he’s drunk enough to let his guard down. Last time I checked, he’s not one to day-drink. Well, not alone anyhow. Our clubhouse is a different story altogether. We all tend to overindulge when we’re there.
I flip the switch on the old Mr. Coffee maker and start a fresh pot. These guys are notorious for drinking the last drop of coffee or leaving almost enough for a cup in the bottom of the pot. Almost. Doesn’t matter which; none of them bother to make a fresh pot. So, I’m constantly the one brewing more. I don’t like stale-tasting burnt coffee. It tastes like cardboard and ash. If I want that flavor, I could smoke a paper towel roll. At least then I would know what I am getting myself into beforehand.
After filling my cup to the rim, I head out of the office to save my bumbling idiot of a brother from himself. He doesn’t know when to quit. Can he not tell he’s aggravating that poor woman? No. Of course, he can’t. He never can. Tea’s good looks make him a woman’s wet dream, or so I’ve been told, but as soon as he starts talking, you can almost see them shriveling in front of your eyes.
I stop at the door, laughing and shaking my head when he doesn’t leave her alone about sitting outside. At this rate, I wouldn’t blame her for punching him square in the nose. I wouldn’t stop her either.
The woman faces me, and I freeze. Her eyes lock with mine. I’m speechless at first. How many months has it been? Five? No, six months. It’s been one hundred thirteen days since those blue eyes curiously watched me. But I see them every night in my dreams. I search for them on faces I know can’t belong to her, but I look anyway. Hopeless, I know. I should have given up on her years ago, but there’s no forgetting someone like that.
I sip my coffee and tell Tea to leave her alone. My voice is harsher than it should be with him. He’s clueless. He doesn’t know who she belongs to. Neither does she, but she‘s mine. Even if she doesn’t remember, I’m hers, too.
Her fire-tipped tongue makes me smile; she’s holding back on Tea, I can tell. That’s new. She was letting some man she called by name have it the last time I saw her. What was his name? Sean or something like that? It started with an “S,” I’m pretty sure. I didn’t care enough to learn his name then, and still don’t.
We didn’t exchange many words when we saw each other, so I didn’t really get an idea of who she is. The woman she’s grown to be. I like how she blurts out what’s on her mind. A couch made of butter…she has a sense of humor to her. Good to see that part of her is still intact.
The longer we talk, the more I need. I fall into old habits, thinking of a million excuses to keep her here a bit more.
I’ve played out almost every situation between us in my head. Some are real, and some I imagined to hold onto my sanity without her. So, I need to touch her to know she’s real, that we’re actually this close, and that we’re not from another lifetime, or a dream.
I comment on her tattoo and breathe out slowly before taking her arm into my hand. She doesn’t notice how my fingers tremble against her skin. Good. I don’t want her to know how much it’s killing me inside.
Is she letting me touch her because she remembers? Surely not. But if she doesn’t remember, why does she have a crow tattoo? It doesn’t make sense. I got my road name because Calico said I was always staring at people’s faces, memorizing them, like crows do. Of course, he didn’t know how close to home the name hit. None of my brothers know much about me or my past before joining the club. So, the significance of a crow is not something they would be aware of.
I smile at her, giving her my shop’s card.
“Thanks, but honestly, I’ll just lose that. So, there’s no reason to give it to me.”
