He looked at her, undaunted by what she'd just seen him do. No, that was a lie. He was pushing her buttons on purpose and he knew it. He wasn't sure why he was doing it, though.
He watched her and waited. Would she make a thing over it or act like it hadn't happened? Would her temper come out, like it had yesterday? He could see her deciding as they stared at each other.
Calling him out would be an act of stupidity. She had no power and nowhere to go. It was a dumb idea to back him into a corner. Fake niceties were better than none at all. If she said nothing, he might have more respect for her intellect but think far less of her as a person for allowing an action like that to go unchallenged.
So which would she be? Prideful idiot or smart doormat?
He could see the decision click into place. She got up casually and headed toward the kitchen area but didn't say anything.
He found himself disappointed at the lack of response. He guessed it was a good thing that she could maintain her emotions but it made him want to start shuffling through her purse and bag, upping the ante until she cracked.
No, he had to step away from the purse. This desire to get her dander up was completely irrational and utterly out of character for him. Normally he wanted to keep the women around him calm so he could shuffle them out the door easier. What the hell was he doing?
He watched her pour herself some coffee as he squashed this ridiculous disappointment he had.
"It would be foolish to think you would trust me." The coffee pot went down so hard he was glad it was the thermos type.
A little bubble of excitement perked in him. "I'm glad you understand."
"Of course I do," she said but she wasn't looking at him.
He watched intently as she reached into the fridge to get some milk for her coffee. Why did he feel so excited about watching her spark to life? She left the kitchen and walked over to the couch. She sat down in the darkest spot of the room but it didn't matter. His eyesight didn't need bright lights to see.
Well this was curious. She didn't look so much pissed as upset. It was there in the way she bit her lip, as if trying to keep her thoughts and words to herself. She kept turning her face away from him, as if she had an inkling the shady corner wasn't giving her the cover she'd hoped for.
This wasn't the reaction he'd hoped for. Her shooting arrows at him was one thing. He expected her to get angry, like she had yesterday, let it out and then she'd be fine. Upset? He didn't want this. What if she was in a mood all day? He should leave. Call Cutty, let him come get her and take her for the day. He pulled his phone out as he walked toward the door.
He dialed Cutty and hung up. The phone rang back almost immediately in a predictably Cutty fashion.
"Yeah?" Lars answered as he brought it to his ear.
"What did you call for?" Cutty asked.
Lars' hand gripped the phone and then answered. "Nothing." He shouldn't dump this on Cutty. It wasn't like the other problems he dumped on him. What if she really was like this all day? No, he'd caused it; he'd have to deal with it.
"You sure?" Cutty asked.
"Yeah." He hit end and pocketed the phone. He looked at her, still sitting there in that mood, and found he was the one getting pissed. What did she expect? He made it a few steps toward Faith before he walked over to the kitchen counter instead.
"Malokin doesn't recruit innocents," he said in Faith's direction, as an explanation of sorts. He wasn't wrong. She was. The whole situation was ridiculous. Did she really expect him to completely trust her?
"I figured that out." She reached over, grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, the volume not exactly at a level conducive to talking.
"And he doesn't think they're a love match with his man in charge of spreading fucking despair!" he said over the blaring television.
She replied by turning the volume up.
Where was all this coming from? What happened to the agreeable girl that had walked into his shop? Or the angry one outside yesterday? And what the hell did she want from him? She was the one with the shady past. She'd come to him, not the other way around. He'd taken her in and was offering her protection but he couldn't pretend it was natural to trust her.
"What am I supposed to do? Roll out the red carpet so you can stab me in the back while I sleep?" he asked, forced to scream now.
One look at her face told him those were the wrong words. Now, she was very definitely pissed but not like she had been yesterday. She looked like she didn't even want to bother waiting for him to sleep. Like she wanted to cross the distance and stab him right where he stood.
"That's what you think of me?" she said, her voice so low normal human hearing wouldn't have been able to make out the words under the noise coming from the TV speakers.
Lars walked over and muted the TV, and threw the remote on the couch. "What am I supposed to think, when you're supposedly this guy's soul mate? No, I'm sorry, ‘the one for him,' that was what you were called." What a ridiculous thing to say someone anyway. What? Were they all stuck in high school, where there was only one person for everyone? He wanted to find Keith and punch in him the mouth for even uttering something as juvenile as that.
She grabbed her coffee mug and walked into the kitchen, placing it in the sink with a splash. Without a word, she grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom, the door shutting loudly but just shy of slamming.
He stared at the bathroom door. Why had he thought that pissing her off would be fun? This didn't feel anything like yesterday had. He left the apartment and there was no question about his door slamming.
Chapter 17
Faith looked around the shop, anywhere but at where Lars was bent over a client, tattooing away. This was the last place she felt like being after this morning but she wasn't going to run out of here either, or call Cutty like she needed to hide behind him. She'd make the situation work, no matter how much of a dick Lars could be.
In truth, she knew she was lucky she had somewhere to go. The unfortunate part was she had to keep reminding herself of that so she didn't try and rip that tattoo gun out of Lars' hand and write the word "dick" across his forehead. She could still be living in the woods.
And then there was Keith. He was as crazy as they came and lurking out there, waiting. After yesterday, it was clear he was having the place watched. If things weren't so crazy in the world right now, she'd take her chances out there. But they were.
As if someone was trying to send her a reminder, she saw a group of thug looking characters walking down the street. Somehow, like always, the craziest of them seemed to have some urge to cross to the other side of the street when they neared the area of the tattoo shop, repelled by whatever magic Lars had around his place.
She stepped away from the window, giving up the thought of going out there until the group was out of sight. She moved about the shop, trying to straighten up and organize like she had for the last few days because she didn't know what else to do with herself. She was careful to keep the ten-foot buffer, which she'd been maintaining all day, between her and Lars. He'd tried to get closer but she'd thwarted him every time. It didn't help that other than the clients who came in and out, it was just the two of them in the shop together all day.
She felt his attention land on her again, as it had often done this morning. She'd glance over to find he was indeed looking at her. Her own gaze barely acknowledged him, refusing to meet his eyes. She'd stay there, for now, but damn if she could muster up the pretense of being happy about it.
She was standing on a chair cleaning one of the large front windows an hour later. Lars' client had left a good twenty minutes ago, and he'd disappeared into the office for a while.
"Hungry?" he asked, startling her from where he was standing behind her. His hand went to her waist to steady her but then dropped. He was only a foot away. She'd lost her buffer. The chair she was standing on had arms, so she had to either leap over one as she jumped down or ask him to move.
She looked down, debating her options while he remained standing there. "Well? Are you hungry?"
He wasn't supplying her with nourishment, he was offering up a truce. Her stomach was on the verge of growling but then his words from this morning, "What am I supposed to do? Roll out the red carpet so you can stab me in the back while I sleep?" rattled in her mind, and overruled the yes she'd almost spoken. "No." She turned back to the window. This was going to be the cleanest window in all of the Carolinas if he wanted to wait her out.