Erasing Faith (28 page)

COLD

The night air was even colder than the words Faith had spoken.

I zipped my leather jacket closed to the collar and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hang on to some of my body heat. I’d survived colder nights than this, in far less comfortable locations. The sun would be up in an hour or so, anyway, and it would take the chill with it when it rose.

There was nothing to be done for the icy ache inside my chest, though.

There never would be. The pain I felt whenever I thought of Faith would always be there, even after this was over and I’d left this place — left her — behind.

The cabin was one of my emergency safe houses, stocked with enough canned food and water for two days — four, if we rationed. Command said it wouldn’t take longer than that to pin down Szekely’s hitman and put a bullet in his brain. Tomorrow, I’d make a quick supply run and then, all I had to do was keep her safe until the threat was eliminated. I wasn’t worried — we had everything we needed to survive out here.

So long as we didn’t kill each other first.

The sound of the screen door creaking open brought me instantly to my feet. I concealed my surprise when I saw Faith standing there, warring expressions of annoyance and contrition playing out on her features.

“Christ, it’s cold out here,” she muttered, staring at me like she thought I was a fool for leaving the warmth of the cabin. “Don’t be an idiot—”

Her words confirmed my thoughts and had me fighting off a smile.

“—come back inside the damn cottage. I promise to stop being a bitch, at least until the sun rises.”

With that, she spun on one heel and disappeared back inside.

I made sure to turn my grin into a blank expression before I followed her.

THE WORST THING

I cursed myself for my moment of compassion as soon as we got inside. I should’ve left him out in the cold. With him back in the cabin, the atmosphere became painfully awkward. Neither of us spoke or even attempted to sleep. The only signs of life that stirred in the small space were the shifting logs in the fireplace, as they collapsed into cinders. Occasionally, one of us would rise to throw another piece of wood into the hearth but, otherwise, we were still as statues.

I leaned against the hard wooden windowsill, staring out at the trees and watching as the sky gradually grew pink with the coming sunrise. My ass was asleep within minutes, but no amount of discomfort would’ve convinced me to move onto the bed. Wes lay there, staring up at the ceiling and resolutely ignoring my presence.

As soon as full dawn broke, he stood, threw on his jacket, and started heading for the door — despite the fact that he’d had little food and no rest for at least a day. Not that I cared, of course.

“Where are you going?” I called after him. I might not like his presence here, but I had a feeling I’d like being alone in the woods even less.

He didn’t bother to turn around. “Out.”

“Well, when are you coming back?”

“Later.”

I huffed. The man was impossible. “What am I supposed to do all day?”

He reached the door, turned to face me, and shrugged. “Lock the door, don’t let anyone in — even me. I have a key. Oh, and try not to get shot, while I’m gone. That would just create a whole lot of unnecessary paperwork I have no intention of doing.”

His crooked grin appeared and at the sight of it, for just a moment, my mind blanked and I forgot all about the fact that I was angry as hell at him. I almost caught myself grinning back, until his harsh words registered in my mind. Before I could so much as retort, he’d shouldered open the screen and disappeared. My grumbles of indignation were overtaken by the growl of his motorcycle starting up, and I listened to the bike’s roar fade into silence as he drove away.

And then I was alone.

***

I soon learned that hiding out was boring as hell.

Bolting the thick oak door behind Wes, I spun around and faced the cabin. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option. There was no way I could ever relax enough to rest, not when I knew there were people out there who’d like nothing more than to end my life. Instead, I did what any normal person does when left alone in a household that doesn’t belong to them for an inordinate amount of time.

I poked around.

The only problem was, there was nothing of interest in the entire damn place. In my hour-long exploration, I opened every cabinet, drawer, and chest I could find. To my utter frustration, I unearthed nothing more than a weathered stack of playing cards, a dusty bottle of Irish whiskey, and a tiny store of food — none of which looked appealing, no matter how hungry I was. Given the choice between stale tins of oatmeal, canned beans, and saltine crackers so old, they’d long since turned to sawdust in their wrappers, I’d choose hunger.

A broom with cobwebbed bristles and a dusty mop leaned against the wall in the corner, and under the small sink, I found a bucket filled with rags and a bottle of generic, lemon-scented liquid cleaner. Judging by the filthy state of the cottage, it was safe to say they hadn’t been put to good use in several decades.

I pulled them out, happy to have a project that would occupy my time, if not my thoughts. Anything was better than playing a gazillion rounds of solitaire.

I changed into yoga pants and an oversized, off-the-shoulder t-shirt, grabbed my iPod and earbuds from my purse, and got to work.

The first song that came on when I set my music to shuffle was Madilyn Bailey’s acoustic cover of
Titanium
, which felt almost unbearably suited to my life at the moment, so I let it play.

I sang — tone deaf, pitchy, and horribly off-key — as I swiped spider webs from ceiling rafters and brushed leaves and debris from forgotten corners. Screeching out the high notes like a cat caught in a rainstorm, I wiped down dirty tabletops and shook clouds of dust from the carpet. With each song change, I felt a little of my sadness slip away and began to breathe again.

By the time I reached the end of my playlist, the cabin looked like an entirely different place. The lemony scent of the cleaner suffused the once-musty space, the soot-coated floors shined like a new penny, and life had been fluffed into the flattened down comforter.

The cottage looked clean, bright, and, dare I say it, almost… beautiful. In a horribly rustic, uncivilized sort of way, of course.

I was finishing up my final task — bounding from window to window with a wet rag, wiping the foggy glass panes clean — when Taylor Swift’s
I Knew You Were Trouble
started blaring in my ears. Freezing in place, for a few seconds I listened to the pounding beat, my head bobbing along to the lyrics. And, suddenly, I couldn’t help myself — I grabbed the broom from the corner, lifted it like a guitar, and started air-jamming like a lunatic. Spinning in circles, belting the high notes, and wailing about the good girl who’d fallen for the bad boy against her better judgment, I felt a smile stretch my lips for the first time in days.

I spun.

I sang.

I whirled.

I wailed.

It was the most fun I’d had in weeks. Years, if I was honest with myself.

Or, at least it was… until I executed a final ridiculous turn, broom-guitar whipping through the air with me, and came face to face with Wes, who was leaning in the open doorway, watching me with a look of utter amusement.

Shit.

***

I stumbled to a stop, panting as I tried to catch my breath. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment but I forced my face into an aloof expression, as though it didn’t bother me in the slightest that I’d just been caught twirling around the cottage like Maria in the Sound of Freaking Music.

“What are you staring at?” I snapped, brushing a tendril of sweat-dampened hair off my forehead.

He mouthed something, but I couldn’t hear him over the music.

“What?”

I tried not to shy away when he walked up to me, reached out a hand, and plucked one headphone from my ear.

“You’re yelling,” he whispered, a half-smile twisting his lips.

My cheeks flushed even redder when I realized I’d been screaming at an unintentionally loud volume.

“Oh,” I murmured, removing the other earbud and silencing my iPod. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I could hear the grin in his voice, but I didn’t dare look up at him. “I could hear you shrieking Taylor Swift from a half-mile out.”

My gaze flew up to his and I opened my mouth to release a snarky retort. I held my tongue when I saw his eyes were full of teasing.

“Too bad you missed the earlier portion of the program,” I joked, my snappy comeback forgotten. “My caterwauling Carrie Underwood impression was really impressive.”

“Was that an actual
joke
that just came out of your mouth?” he asked, his eyes widening in a parody of shock.

“Don’t push it,” I muttered, glaring at him once more.

The skin around his eyes wrinkled in mirth. He stared at me for a full minute without saying anything, his eyes warm on my face, and I fought the urge to move away from him. After a small eternity, his gaze finally shifted to take in the cottage more thoroughly.

“You cleaned.”

“It was dusty.”

He glanced back at me. “I can see that.”

Lifting a hand to my forehead, he rubbed at the grime-streaked skin there.

My eyebrows went up involuntarily.

“Dirt,” he said softly, his thumb still brushing my face. The feeling of his touch was so light — so
right
— I felt the breath catch in my throat. My heart began to pound a mad tattoo inside my chest, and I pulled back from him so fast, his hand lingered in the air even after I’d spun away.

Steadying my shoulders, I took a deep breath and decided to ignore him. I busied myself with putting away my cleaning supplies, trying to believe that I was still immune to him. Telling myself over and over that the simple touch of his hand hadn’t been enough to set my heart beating double time or steal the breath from my lungs.

I’d rather lie than admit the truth — that the brush of his thumb, the warmth in his gaze, the silk of his tone could still make me weak in the knees, even after three years of hating him.

He’s the devil,
I reminded myself.
Did you already forget that?

I was thankful when, after a moment, the electric, tight-coiled tension in the air dissipated and I could breathe again. I listened to his steps as he made his way over to the tiny wooden table by the kitchenette.

“I got coffee,” he said, setting down a clear plastic grocery bag I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. “Canned food, lantern fluid. Some other supplies that will last a few days. You must be hungry.”

I nodded, still not looking at him. “How long are we going to be here?”

“Until there’s no longer a threat.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I gathered that. I meant… Days? Weeks?”

“It takes as long as it takes.”

I bit my tongue to hold in a retort. “I have to get back to my life. People will be looking for me in New York.”

Shit. I hadn’t meant to tell him where I was living.

He didn’t respond and that feeling the air was about to combust was suddenly back, swirling stronger than ever in the space between us. When he spoke, his voice was choked with tension. “Who?”

My back went ramrod straight as I listened to his footsteps crossing the room back toward me.

“Who’s waiting for you, Red?” His tone was deceptively soft, but I could hear the strain beneath his words. “A boyfriend? A husband?”

I didn’t answer, but my hands clenched into fists by my sides. He had no right to know the answer to those questions — not anymore. 

“Is it the man who helped you disappear? Because whoever he is, he has connections. Even I couldn’t find you, Red. And, believe me, I looked.”

My stomach clenched at that admission.

“Someone helped you vanish off the face of the fucking earth, without a single trace. No mere name-change could’ve erased you so thoroughly.”

I bit my lip to keep from answering as Conor’s face flashed in my mind.

“Someone taught you to shoot.” His words slithered around me like a snake, moving in for the kill strike. I tried to keep ignoring him, but the closer he moved toward me, the harder it was to remain unaffected. “Someone helped you change into this… new person.”

I spun around so fast, I nearly knocked noses with him. He edged back until our faces were a few centimeters apart, and I glared into his eyes, suddenly furious again.

“You want to know who changed me?” If looks could’ve killed, he’d be down on the freshly scrubbed floors, bleeding out. “
You.
You changed me.”

His jaw clenched.

“You broke me, Wes-
whatever-your-real-fucking-name-is
-Adams. You ripped my life to shreds and walked away.” I shoved his shoulders with both hands and screamed a little when he barely even rocked back. “You don’t get to know about my life after you wrecked it. And you certainly don’t get to judge me for how I chose to put myself back together after you shattered me.”

I shoved him again, fighting the tears that were suddenly threatening to pour, and continued to berate him.

“If you don’t like the girl you see in front of you, you have only yourself to blame. You feel like I’m a new person?
Good
. I don’t want to be that fool who believed your lies ever again.” Despite my efforts, I felt a tear slip out from beneath my lashes. When I shouted at him again, my voice cracked with emotion. “You don’t recognize the woman I’ve become?
Perfect.
Now you know what it feels like to look at someone you thought you understood, and realize you never knew them at all.”

“What do you want from me?” he growled, his dark eyes flashing with anger. The careful restraint he always used was stripped from his voice.  “Do you want me to pinky fucking promise that I’m not going to hurt you again? Because I can’t. Grow up. This is the real world, Red. I’m not accountable for your happiness — no one on this godforsaken planet is.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” I screamed, shoving him again. “You’re the devil! The worst thing that ever happened to me!”

My fists pounded against his arms, his shoulders, anywhere I could reach. I was crying full-out now — a sniffing, sniveling mess — and I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face any more than I could stop the words flowing from my mouth.

“I hate you,” I whispered brokenly, the heat of my anger gone and the words garbled by grief. “I hate you so much.”

Wes was a statue, watching me unravel and utterly unable to stop my meltdown. He didn’t touch me, but he didn’t move away either. He just stood there and took it — all the vicious words I doled out, every shove of my hands against his shoulders. And when my screams turned to sobs, when my fury faded to sorrow, he didn’t push me away, as he had every right to. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me and crushed me against his chest so tight, I stopped feeling like I was about to fly apart into a million pieces.