Page 32 of Betrayed In Crimson
I speed, pushing my bike to its limits, not wanting to deal with the blistering sun on my skin. As I approach the compound, I skid to a stop, dust and gravel kicking up to form a cloud around me. I move quickly, storming inside and heading straight for my room.
“Why are you back?” Lucian’s voice echoes behind me. I turn, my hand still on the door handle.
“You’ll need to find someone else to watch over her,” I state. “Now.”
“You smell of her,” he points out. I don’t need to elaborate on what happened; it’s one of the many curses of being a vampire. Impossible to keep relationships secret.
“It was only last night. Nothing more,” I said, exhaling a long breath.
“You tell her everything?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t that kind of night. It was purely physical.”
“For her,” Lucian counters, his words slicing through me.
“Goodnight, Prez,” I murmur before walking inside my room and closing the door behind me.
I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, her scent surrounding me, consuming me so much I never want to wash; never wanting to wash her, or the memory of last night, away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LILITH
My eyes flutter open,my body suddenly cold. I pull the sheet further up, sit up, and look around. He’s gone. Disappointment flares through me briefly; a small part of me hoped he would still be here. Hoped he would be stubborn, prove me wrong. Win me over not just with my body, but my mind and heart too. I can’t be mad; it’s what we agreed.
I get up and walk out of my bedroom to double-check. I’m met with nothing but silence. On the side table, I see a handwritten note addressed to me. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as nerves swarm my stomach. I pick it up and read it. Tears sting my eyes. An absence grows in my chest. “You fucker, Silas. You motherfucking fucker,” I seethe, angry that he’s made me feel; made me feel things.
I run my fingers through my hair. Nothing changes. He is still protecting his brother, helping him and hiding him. I shake my head, clinging to the anger bubbling inside me; it’s easier, safer. However, it feels different this time. I screw the letter up and drop it in the trash can before turning on my heel, ripping the sheets from my bed, wanting to erase last night’s memories.I load them into the washer and then head for the shower, scrubbing my skin and hair until I smell of nothing but coconut soap.
A few hours pass. The sound of rumbling pipes vibrates from outside. I move to the window, looking out into the darkness; shadows cascading, making it impossible to see who it is. Part of me hopes it’s Silas. As the figure turns, disappointment stutters in my chest when I see it’s Clutch. He spots me and gives a cheeky salute and a wink. I move downstairs, unlocking the main bar door to let him in.
“You not open tonight, doll?” he asks.
“No, not feeling up to it,” I mutter, locking the door behind him. I turn to face him, his usually playful eyes assessing me.
“I swear, when will you two just make up and be friends?” he sighs, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well, if he hadn’t helped his brother run away and kept it from me, I’m sure we would have been the best of friends,” I snap, sarcasm dripping from my words.
Clutch scoffs a laugh. “Fuck me. Silas helped his brother?” He shakes his head. “Morbius is the last person Silas would help.”
I frown, blinking. “Silas has never denied it,” I point out.
Clutch walks casually behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of rum-infused alcohol blood. “Of course he hasn’t. He’s riddled with guilt.” He shrugs, pausing for a moment as if realizing he’s said too much already.
“Guilt?” I press.
“Yeah, you two fought that night, right? If you hadn’t fought, you wouldn’t have been there.” Clutch shrugs, flashing one of his charming smiles before making his way upstairs to the apartment.
I watch his retreating back, suddenly finding myself with yet more questions.
The next few days go fine. I reopen the bar, keeping myself busy. I have to remind Clutch not to chat and flirt with the locals, although he is bringing in more business. Much to the husbands’ dismay, their wives have suddenly started joining them. All for Clutch.
“What’s your name, baby doll?” he asks Julia, Kenneth’s wife. They run the local hardware store.
Her cheeks turn a deep rose as she tucks a strand of mousy, greying hair behind her ear. “Julia,” she breathes.
Clutch leans over the bar, twiddling one of his cocktail sticks in his mouth. His bright blue eyes draw the woman in like a damn siren. “Of course it is, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He winks, takes her hand in his and places a kiss on the back of her hand.
