Shades of Darkness (Redemption Series) (43 page)

“Come on, Liv. Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?”

He eyed her skeptically, and she’d never wanted to punch him more than at this moment. “Excuse me…?” she stammered in total bewilderment.

He raised his hands defensively. “Hey, all I’m saying is that I spent the last several days with these guys, and honestly, they aren’t as bad as everyone keeps saying. If you ask me, Liam wanted you back and he made the whole thing up to get you away from me.”

Olivia was momentarily speechless. Who was this man standing in front of her? “You know something, Mitch? I think you’ve missed one glaringly obvious fact in your conspiracy theory.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” he snapped, his patience quickly nearing an end.

“Liam can’t lie!” She poked him in the shoulder to make sure he was listening. “As much as you want to believe this is about you, Mitch, it just isn’t!”

“Oh, I believe that. When you came waltzing out here in that nightie I bought you, the nightie I haven’t even seen you in yet! I’m quite certain that had nothing to do with me! Did you fuck him, Olivia? I just want the truth because we both know you wouldn’t let me near that pus—”

She slapped him—hard. “Get out!” Olivia pointed past his shoulder toward the door. “And, by the way, it doesn’t sound like you’ve gone without, so don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.” If she’d truly loved Mitch, learning of his betrayal would have hurt more than it did. Instead, it only made her angry that she’d been so naïve, proving, beyond a doubt, things were over between them. Even knowing Liam was leaving her, she’d still rather be alone than with this arrogant prick.

Mitch stormed toward the door. Before charging out, he spun around and leveled her with a menacing glare. “You’ll regret this, Olivia.”

The door slammed shut with a resolute
bang
that rattled the log cabin painting hanging on the wall. Olivia had no doubt that she would. In fact, right now, she pretty much felt like the queen of regrets. Sighing, she called out, “Liam, are you there?”

Nothing but silence answered her.

***

What an ungrateful little bitch! Mitch slammed his fist into the wall as he stormed down the hall. After everything he’d done for her, how dare she treat him like an afterthought. He’d traveled across the United States for her and this was the thanks he got? He couldn’t descend the stairs fast enough. Entering the lobby, he headed straight for the bar and made himself at home, anxious to get some liquid balm for his severely wounded pride. Three shots later, his bad night turned worse.

“Can I get a Jag and Coke?”

Slowly, he turned his head to find his stool-neighbor watching him with an amused grin. “I thought that was you,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”

“Well, that’s a loaded question, Mitch, my friend. Looks like the reunion with your little honey didn’t quite go as well as planned.”

“Wow, you’re good. Hey, if you ever decide to stop stalking women, I’m sure you could get a job with
Dion Warwick
and her
Psychic Friends’ Network
.”

Haden’s chuckle held no amusement. His throaty growl sent unease prickling up Mitch’s spine. “You kiss your fiancée with that mouth?” Another chuckle. “Oh, that’s right. I guess not.”

“What do you want, Haden?”

“Look, Mitch, I held up my end of the bargain. I got you to Olivia. I never promised you’d get the girl in the end. But now it’s time for you to hold up your part of the deal.”

Mitch scoffed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll kill her. And when I’m done, I’m comin’ after you.” Haden downed his Jag and rapped his glass on the counter for another. “Olivia has something I want, and you’re going to get it for me—understand?”

Sitting here, it finally started to seep into Mitch’s Jack-sodden mind that perhaps he’d gotten in over his head. “And what’s that?”

“Olivia is in possession of a certain necklace—a heart-shaped black opal-looking stone. Do you know it?”

Mitch drained his glass and pushed it forward for a refill. “Yeah, I know it. She never takes it off.”

“Well, I need it, and you’re going to get it for me. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done. Besides, you’re not gonna give up on her that easy, are you? I mean, come on. You’ve traveled across how many states?—all in the name of love… The girl’s probably just confused. No doubt, Liam has brainwashed the poor thing into thinking she doesn’t love you. They can do that, you know, mess with their minds. Why don’t you go give it another try? Before it’s too late...”

In the time it took Haden to convince him Olivia still loved him and there might be a chance they could make this work, Mitch downed three more glasses of liquid courage.  Thoroughly trashed, he slid off the bar stool and promptly pitched forward, nearly face-planting into the floor.

Haden’s hand shot out, steadying him. It took a few more seconds to right him before he let go. “You gonna make it there in one piece? It’d be a shame to get this far just to have you taking a header down the stairs. You’ll be worthless to me with a broken neck.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Mitch slurred. “Really, I’m touched. I’ll be fine—as long as I take the elevator.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Where was Liam? Olivia paced, she railed, she cried, she begged, and she pleaded. Still he did not return. Minutes passed, then an hour—now she was getting worried. Where did he go? Was he all right?

The soft tap on the door sent a rush of relief flooding her veins. Finally! She ran to the door and jerked it open. “Where have you been? I was worried—”

Mitch leaned against the door jam, and by the smell of him, it wasn’t by choice. His top lip pulled into a cocky grin as he slurred, “Gosh, Liv, I didn’t know you still cared.”

“I don’t.” She tried to slam the door shut, but the tip of his boot stuck in the doorway.

Forcing it back open, he said, “Come on, Liv. Give us another chance. Hear me out, huh? I love you, baby. Hell, I put my life on the line to travel across the States to find you. The least you can do is talk to me.”

Olivia sighed. “You’re drunk.”

“Can you blame me? You’re breakin’ my heart. I had to do somethin’ to dull the pain.”

Dammit… He always knew just what to say to play on her conscience.

“Is he here?” Mitch tried to peer in over her head.

“No, he’s not.”

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Please let me in.”

She hesitated, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound completely heartless. Just because she didn’t want to marry the guy didn’t mean he deserved to be treated like shit. But, honestly, she really had nothing left to say to him. Sighing, she opened the door, against her better judgment, and lifted her arm for him to come inside.

“Thanks, baby…”

She hated it when he called her that. Mitch made it a whole two steps before he tripped, stumbling into her. If he didn’t reek like whiskey, she’d have suspected it was a ploy to cop a feel, but she knew Mitch well enough to know that whiskey always messed with his equilibrium. She helped him over to the kitchenette and seated him on a stool. “Can I make you some coffee?”

“Sure, doubt it’s gonna help, though. I haven’t eaten today and I downed six Jacks in an hour.”

“Six? Damn, Mitch, do you have a drinking problem?”

When he looked at her, she was pretty sure his eyes crossed. “No, I have a woman problem.”

“Great, so now you’re going to blame your bad choices on me? Is that it? You know, someday you’re going to have to take responsibility for your own actions. I upset you, so you get drunk. I won’t sleep with you, so you fuck other women. At what point here are you going to cowboy-up and say, ‘Hey, I’m an alcoholic man-whore.’ You know, I’m pretty sure they’ve got a support group for guys like you.”

“Damn, Olivia, retract the claws for one minute, will ya? I came here to apologize—”

“Apology accepted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s really late…”

Mitch snagged her wrist as she walked toward the door. With a surprising amount of coordination, he stood, hooking his arms around her waist, and jerked her against him.

“Mitch, stop,” she protested, pressing her palms against his chest and pushing him away. “This isn’t gonna happen.”

His grip tightened—she couldn’t budge him. His arousal dug into her hip as he bent his head, pressing his lips against hers. The lingering peaty aftertaste of whiskey filled her mouth as Mitch forced his tongue past her lips. He ignored her muffled protest, deepening the kiss as she began to struggle in earnest.

Jerking her head back, she cranked it to the side, craning her neck. “Mitch, I said stop!” She struggled to keep her panic checked. Things were bad enough as it was. She didn’t want Liam feeling her fear and showing up to find them like this. Sadly, Mitch wasn’t the one who changed—she had—and in his mind, she was still his fiancée to hold, to kiss.

“Come on, Liv. Don’t do this to us. I love you, baby.”

And the sad truth was he probably did, as much as he was capable of loving someone, that is. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough for her and she just didn’t love him, not like she’d managed to convince herself she had at one time.

Ignoring her protests, Mitch brushed her damp hair over her shoulder, exposing the column of her throat. He leaned in to kiss her neck—and froze. His grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her waist.

She winced. “Mitch, you’re hurting me.”

“What happened to your neck, Olivia?”

Sighing, she tried to pull away. “Please, Mitch, just let me go and I’ll tell you. You’re making me nervous, and Liam can feel my emotions. I don’t think you want him coming back here and finding us like this anymore than I do.”

He let out a defeated alcohol-sodden sigh and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. They stood there a minute as his balance wavered. “Mitch, why don’t we sit down?”

“I want answers, Liv. I think I deserve that much.”

“And I’ll give them to you, but not until you let me go and sit down before you fall down.”

He released his death-grip hold on her, and Olivia took a much needed breath. When she turned to walk to the couch, he threaded his fingers between hers, letting her lead him. As she sat, he took a seat closer than she would have liked and shoved his fingers into her hair, exposing her neck for a closer inspection. “Tell me what happened to you.”

She wasn’t sure if Mitch was referring to the bruises on her throat or the kiss marks on the side of her neck. “Haden happened. He…attacked me.”

“For your necklace? Where was your guardian?”

Air quoting “guardian” certainly didn’t help her tenuous temper. “He was busy killing a demon, if you must know. Wait—how do you know Haden wants my necklace?”

“Because he sent me here to get it from you. Said he’ll kill us both if he doesn’t get it. By the look of your neck, he wasn’t kidding. Olivia, let me help you. We could run—”

“No we can’t, Mitch! Don’t you get it? What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

She refused to acknowledge his snarky comment. “Haden is a hunter. He’d just find me again. Besides, I don’t even have the stone anymore. I gave it to Liam at the Grotto—” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could suck them right back in. Although, as trashed as Mitch was, there was a good chance he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning, anyway. In fact, even as they sat here, Mitch began to waver. His color suddenly didn’t look so good. “Hey, are you all right?”

His slow, deliberate swallow didn’t bode well. “I’m fine,” he denied on the heels of asking, “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Through the bedroom, on the left.”

He bolted off the couch and stumbled/ran into the bedroom. A moment later, the bathroom door slammed shut and she got the distinct pleasure of listening to Mitch reversing his whiskey. “Aw hell…” she groaned, forcing herself off the couch to go check on him.

She felt bad Mitch was here and that he’d gotten caught up in all this mess. She felt even worse that she was going to break his heart. Perhaps tonight wasn’t the best time to have their “talk.” He obviously wasn’t sober enough to do anything but go to bed, and she didn’t want to have this conversation twice, due to the likelihood of Jack-induced amnesia.

 Thank God, he’d stopped hurling by the time she cracked the door and peeked inside. She found him kneeling on the white tile floor paying homage to the porcelain throne. His arm was propped on the rim, where his forehead rested.

He looked pathetic and miserable. She didn’t know Mitch to be such a boozer, but then again, there was a lot about herself she’d kept hidden from him. Considering what she’d overheard Liam saying this afternoon, apparently he’d done the same. Tisking, she shook her head as she grabbed a washcloth off the shelf and ran it under cold water.

She pressed the cool cloth to his forehead, and he murmured, “Thanks,” making no move to get off the floor.

“You look like hell, Mitch. Do you do this sort of thing very often?”

“Depends what you classify as ‘often.’”

“You need a shower.” At some point, he’d missed the target. “And you stink. Just maybe it’ll help sober you up a bit.” She thought about sending him to his room to do just that, and then imagined him slipping in the shower, whacking his head, and drowning in an inch of water. That’d be her luck and she’d never forgive herself if that happened. He was here because of her, and that was bad enough.

She turned on the water, stuck her fingers beneath the tepid blast, and bit back a grin. That ought to do it. “Come on, Mitch, get up,” she said, tugging on his arm. “You’re gonna take a shower.”

He groaned, more in misery than protest, and clung to her as he pulled himself up. The thought occurred to her, as he used her to leverage himself off the floor, how vastly different Liam was from this guy. Sure, it probably wasn’t fair, comparing a man to an angel, yet reasonable or not, she couldn’t help it, and the measure-up left glaring holes of weakness and crater-sized personality flaws in Mitch.

Never in a million years would she have to pull Liam off the floor in a drunken stupor. He’d never cheat on her or pressure her for sex. He’d never get mad at her for stupid reasons like not wanting to throw a
Super Bowl
party or forgetting to set the timer on the coffee pot. And had Liam not come back for her when he did—had he not tossed her kicking and screaming over his shoulder and carted her away, this is what she’d be married to right now.