Stepbrother Thief(28)

“Listen,” I say as slowly and calmly as I'm able, “we both know what you did to me, how you left.” I lift up a hand when he starts to speak. “I don't care why. Why isn't important to me, Gilleon. But you and me, we had something …” My voice gets rough and low, but I don't care. Maybe that's why fate brought us together again, just so I could say this. “We had something special, Gill. Some,” I curl the fingers of my free hand against my chest, “some rare and wonderful spark. When it was snuffed out, I thought I would die of heartbreak. But I didn't. I knew I'd lost something one of a kind that day, but I got through it, worked past it.”

I stand up from the table, still not looking at him. He's looking at me though. I know that because I can feel it, can feel his gaze burning through my dress and straight to the red bra and panties that I've got on underneath. A strange, distant part of me wants him to bend me over this table and fuck me, but I know I'll feel even worse if we do that, even more empty inside.

“I'm sorry if I'm being aloof, if I don't seem like I want to make friends. To be honest, Gill, I don't. I just … want to keep things professional, okay? Please don't bring the subject up again.”

I shove away from the table and storm out of the kitchen, my heels loud on the wood floors as I head towards the living room and the main staircase. I'm barely out of sight before I hear a growl and a crash, like the sound of glass shattering.

I pause for a moment and then turn around, moving slowly back towards the kitchen. When I peer inside, I find Gill bent over the table with his elbow on the wooden surface, his head in his hand. On the floor next to me are the remnants of a navy blue mug and a sea of rapidly cooling coffee.

I sneak away before he sees me and retreat back to my bedroom.

To my credit, I don't shed a single tear.



Memories poke and prod at my subconscious, but I brush them away, shoving at them with angry fingers. Not right now, I snarl, my mental voice taking on the same violent, wild pitch that had burst from Gill before he'd thrown the coffee cup.

What the hell is going on here?

“Je pense que je perds la tête,” I murmur. I think I'm losing my mind. I put my fingers against my forehead and close my eyes, slowing my breathing down to a manageable level.

But no. No. That's not how I operate.

I open my eyes back up.

“I will handle this situation with grace and dignity,” I say, reverting back to some positive self-talk. “No matter what comes my way, I can handle it.” Except for outlaws with guns, my cynical self tries to add. I shove that thought back, too, and start pacing, the click of my heels on the floor a comforting sound, a familiar sound, one that says that I'm in control. Me. I decide where I walk, how quickly I go; I steer my own destiny.

If I had a cell phone—or any phone at all for that matter—I'd call up Leilani right now, even though I'm not supposed to. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to about all of this. My usual go-to, Cliff, isn't looking like a great option right now. Normally, when we talk about Gill, it's like we're talking about some distant, fictional character, some figment of my imagination that only haunts me in dreams. Right now? When I see Cliff and Gill together, I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The stepdad that's become like a true father figure to me, he's really the dad of the man that shattered my heart and stepped on it. And he loves his kid, like any good dad should, for all his faults and shortcomings. So how can I possibly talk to him about this?

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway draws me to the window and I pause, looking down to find Aveline stepping out of some generic black rental sedan.

My fingers twitch on the windowsill.

I might've just met the woman, but I could really use a friend right now. Plus, she knows Gill. Plus, she's a badass capable of saving me from armed gunmen.

Yes.

It's her that I want to talk to, hang out with.

I fix my dress and head back out into the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs as Gill moves toward the front door. When he looks up at me, the mask is back in place, fixed firmly across those full lips, those beautiful blue eyes.

I can't resist …

“Is my coffee still on the table?” I ask, moving down the stairs, my hand sliding over the banister. “I could still use that pick-me-up.”

“I'll get it,” he tells me, opening the front door before Aveline can even knock. I wonder if he's cleaned up the mess yet. “Can I get you some coffee, Ave?” he asks, moving back down the hall and trusting his partner to lock the door behind her.

“Black,” she says, giving me a once-over and a raised red brow. “Wow, fancy. You got plans today?” I'm sure the question's rhetorical, but I answer anyway, watching as Aveline shrugs out of her navy blue coat, revealing a brown shoulder holster and the black pistol that's tucked away inside of it.