“Do you want me to throw you a pity party because women are throwing themselves at you?”
The energy dropped from me—I couldn’t keep the act up anymore. I knew my expression was empty by the time I turned toward her.
It was bad. By the simple way her lips parted, I knew there was no hiding the darkness that took over with each breath.
“They should all stay away from me,” I managed to hiss out.
I was up and out of my chair, walking through the door without a word. There was no destination. I just had to get away. From them, from her, from every living, breathing person.
Everything was coming undone. With each step, I crumbled.
Grace.
No!
Her smile, her touch.
The stairwell came into view, and I slammed through the door before racing down the steps.
9 flashed by, then 8. Around and around, my leg protesting. 7, then 6. I couldn’t stop. Not until I reached the bottom.
When I broke through the door and out into the cold air, I ran around the side of the building, away from anyone who could see. My lungs burned, arm tucked against me and around my stomach. Everything was on fire, a tearing pain. Flashes of the accident, of waking up, of the reality of my loss.
A scream let loose, unable to be contained as I fell against the side of the building.
Pain. Nothing but screaming, searing pain consumed me.
My slip intrigued Delilah more than I wanted, more than I needed. Her attention, as sly as it was, didn’t go unnoticed. It forced me to work harder at containing my inner turmoil.
The problem was her. When I did catch her staring and our eyes connected, it was almost like looking into a mirror. Her eyes were blank, empty of emotion and devoid of light.
No. No. No.
Yes. She’s just like us. Broken. Empty. Want her.
Stop it.
I’d arrived earlier than normal, the office even more empty than I was used to. Delilah’s side was vacant, which was odd as she usually made it in before me.
Standing in the doorway, I stared at her desk, at her chair.
What the hell am I going to do?
Take her.
I can’t.
Take her!
“Stop!” I yelled out, slamming my fist against the doorjamb, my chest expanding with labored breaths.
I walked around my desk and grabbed my coffee cup. Calling up all my strength, I took a deep, steadying breath to right myself, an action that almost faltered when I glanced out the window and saw Delilah climb out of her car. I knew it was her simply because she always parked in the same spot, which was right next to my car.
I can’t do this.
You know how to make things easier.
You are no fucking help.
If I was helping, you would LET ME OUT!
Banging of metal bars clanged in my mind, making me cringe.
Talking to myself, envisioning a stalking, deranged version of myself locked in a cage in my own mind probably wasn’t considered sane, but I’d long ago given up on any notion of sanity.
The beast was a part of me, but was too uncontrollable to be let loose. With tight chains, I bound him. With bars of steel, I contained him. With sheer will, I silenced him.
Two cups of coffee retrieved, and I was able to get back and set them down before she made it up.
“Morning,” she said with a yawn. It was obvious the long hours had gotten to her. With Friday, our work week totaled over fifty hours apiece.
I held one of the cups up. “Coffee?”
She quirked her brow and looked from it to me. “Is it poisonous?” she asked.
Poisonous?
Poisonous?
What the fuck? Where the fuck did that come from? Had I done too good of a job of pushing her away?
I chuckled, stunned. “No, Delilah. Fresh brewed.”
She cautiously reached for the cup. “Are you buttering me up for something?”
“No.” I let out a sigh and shook my head. “I saw you walking in when I was heading to get a cup of my own. With as much as you drink, I figured you’d need one.”
“Oh.” She took hold of the cup and held it up to her lips. “Sorry… Thank you.”
She smiled at me. It was almost real, or at least part of it was. Enough so that I found my lips pulling up in response before clearing my throat and returning to as neutral of an expression as I could muster.
“Don’t mention it,” I said as I returned my attention back to the never-ending stack of papers on my desk.
That was the moment I realized that she held the power to breach my walls with a simple, real smile.
CHAPTER 7
Flirting wasn’t working.
It was a stupid idea. Flirt with all the women but her. Show her I was attracted to them.
Not her.
Never Delilah.
She made my blood fucking boil. Just sitting next to her was a slow torture, but an agony I endured for some unknown reason.
Fuck. I should have told Jack “No.” Been more insistent about it.
I needed a fucking drink. A strong one.
Headlights in my rearview mirror caught my attention. Six miles they’d stayed close, and it could have been a coincidence, but maybe not. Four years of looking over my shoulder had honed my awareness of my surroundings. I’d become a paranoid motherfucker, but with good cause.
Killing Grace and leaving me at death’s door wasn’t enough for Vincent Marconi—it was only the beginning. I was right where he wanted me; locked in a purgatory of my own making.
My wife was dead. My son was dead. I was the living dead.
A few blocks from my building, the car pulled into the right turn lane, and I caught a glimpse of an SUV that looked full of kids before it drove away.
After parking my car in the lot, I started walking instead of going in. I’d seen the neon sign of a bar the other night, and I desperately needed a drink.
A couple blocks down and one over, I found my oasis, and it was within a short walk of my condo. Beer, booze, anything to numb my mind and my body from all the thoughts of the intriguing grayish green eyes that haunted me. Their emptiness that could pierce me and call out to my own emptiness.
The neon lights of the bar welcomed me, drew me in, and sang me the siren song of drinking away my troubles. The problem was the blonde my eyes immediately found sitting at the bar. A shudder moved through her as I stood, staring at her. She shot me a sideways glance, but it wasn’t needed because of this damn current that seemed to move through us.
The energy dropped from me—I couldn’t keep the act up anymore. I knew my expression was empty by the time I turned toward her.
It was bad. By the simple way her lips parted, I knew there was no hiding the darkness that took over with each breath.
“They should all stay away from me,” I managed to hiss out.
I was up and out of my chair, walking through the door without a word. There was no destination. I just had to get away. From them, from her, from every living, breathing person.
Everything was coming undone. With each step, I crumbled.
Grace.
No!
Her smile, her touch.
The stairwell came into view, and I slammed through the door before racing down the steps.
9 flashed by, then 8. Around and around, my leg protesting. 7, then 6. I couldn’t stop. Not until I reached the bottom.
When I broke through the door and out into the cold air, I ran around the side of the building, away from anyone who could see. My lungs burned, arm tucked against me and around my stomach. Everything was on fire, a tearing pain. Flashes of the accident, of waking up, of the reality of my loss.
A scream let loose, unable to be contained as I fell against the side of the building.
Pain. Nothing but screaming, searing pain consumed me.
My slip intrigued Delilah more than I wanted, more than I needed. Her attention, as sly as it was, didn’t go unnoticed. It forced me to work harder at containing my inner turmoil.
The problem was her. When I did catch her staring and our eyes connected, it was almost like looking into a mirror. Her eyes were blank, empty of emotion and devoid of light.
No. No. No.
Yes. She’s just like us. Broken. Empty. Want her.
Stop it.
I’d arrived earlier than normal, the office even more empty than I was used to. Delilah’s side was vacant, which was odd as she usually made it in before me.
Standing in the doorway, I stared at her desk, at her chair.
What the hell am I going to do?
Take her.
I can’t.
Take her!
“Stop!” I yelled out, slamming my fist against the doorjamb, my chest expanding with labored breaths.
I walked around my desk and grabbed my coffee cup. Calling up all my strength, I took a deep, steadying breath to right myself, an action that almost faltered when I glanced out the window and saw Delilah climb out of her car. I knew it was her simply because she always parked in the same spot, which was right next to my car.
I can’t do this.
You know how to make things easier.
You are no fucking help.
If I was helping, you would LET ME OUT!
Banging of metal bars clanged in my mind, making me cringe.
Talking to myself, envisioning a stalking, deranged version of myself locked in a cage in my own mind probably wasn’t considered sane, but I’d long ago given up on any notion of sanity.
The beast was a part of me, but was too uncontrollable to be let loose. With tight chains, I bound him. With bars of steel, I contained him. With sheer will, I silenced him.
Two cups of coffee retrieved, and I was able to get back and set them down before she made it up.
“Morning,” she said with a yawn. It was obvious the long hours had gotten to her. With Friday, our work week totaled over fifty hours apiece.
I held one of the cups up. “Coffee?”
She quirked her brow and looked from it to me. “Is it poisonous?” she asked.
Poisonous?
Poisonous?
What the fuck? Where the fuck did that come from? Had I done too good of a job of pushing her away?
I chuckled, stunned. “No, Delilah. Fresh brewed.”
She cautiously reached for the cup. “Are you buttering me up for something?”
“No.” I let out a sigh and shook my head. “I saw you walking in when I was heading to get a cup of my own. With as much as you drink, I figured you’d need one.”
“Oh.” She took hold of the cup and held it up to her lips. “Sorry… Thank you.”
She smiled at me. It was almost real, or at least part of it was. Enough so that I found my lips pulling up in response before clearing my throat and returning to as neutral of an expression as I could muster.
“Don’t mention it,” I said as I returned my attention back to the never-ending stack of papers on my desk.
That was the moment I realized that she held the power to breach my walls with a simple, real smile.
CHAPTER 7
Flirting wasn’t working.
It was a stupid idea. Flirt with all the women but her. Show her I was attracted to them.
Not her.
Never Delilah.
She made my blood fucking boil. Just sitting next to her was a slow torture, but an agony I endured for some unknown reason.
Fuck. I should have told Jack “No.” Been more insistent about it.
I needed a fucking drink. A strong one.
Headlights in my rearview mirror caught my attention. Six miles they’d stayed close, and it could have been a coincidence, but maybe not. Four years of looking over my shoulder had honed my awareness of my surroundings. I’d become a paranoid motherfucker, but with good cause.
Killing Grace and leaving me at death’s door wasn’t enough for Vincent Marconi—it was only the beginning. I was right where he wanted me; locked in a purgatory of my own making.
My wife was dead. My son was dead. I was the living dead.
A few blocks from my building, the car pulled into the right turn lane, and I caught a glimpse of an SUV that looked full of kids before it drove away.
After parking my car in the lot, I started walking instead of going in. I’d seen the neon sign of a bar the other night, and I desperately needed a drink.
A couple blocks down and one over, I found my oasis, and it was within a short walk of my condo. Beer, booze, anything to numb my mind and my body from all the thoughts of the intriguing grayish green eyes that haunted me. Their emptiness that could pierce me and call out to my own emptiness.
The neon lights of the bar welcomed me, drew me in, and sang me the siren song of drinking away my troubles. The problem was the blonde my eyes immediately found sitting at the bar. A shudder moved through her as I stood, staring at her. She shot me a sideways glance, but it wasn’t needed because of this damn current that seemed to move through us.
