The Rich Boy - Kylie Scott Page 0,127
A slash on his upper right arm. Four across his stomach, like a little constellation.
I shake my head. “Thom would never take his shirt off in public. He’s too self-conscious. We didn’t even have sex with the light on.”
“Self-conscious about the damage from the car accident, right?”
“Yeah, and the scars from playing sports and a surgery when he was younger.”
“I don’t care about them.” He sighs. “It was just too much of a risk that someone might recognize gunshot, knife, and shrapnel wounds if they saw them.”
Huh. “Thom?”
“Hi, babe.” He gives me a sad, sort of contrite smile. For the first time, he looks exactly like my Thom.
“What the hell is going on?”
He says nothing. But his gaze moves over me, taking in my battered face, my bruised body. It stops, however, at my hands. “Betty, where’s your ring?”
“I—I took it off. I was leaving you.”
For the first time, this scary alternate version of Thom seems almost surprised. A little shocked even. “You left me? Why would you…” Then he looks over his shoulder at Fox, who is carrying Spider away, holding him over one shoulder, fireman style. She’s obviously stronger than she looks. Thom leans in close, his voice harsh and low. “Tell no one. Do you understand?”
“What? But why?”
“No one. Your life depends on it.”
Returning without Spider, Fox wanders over. “All organized.”
“Good,” answers Thom.
“Of course, this is all your own bloody fault,” says Fox. “You’re the one who wanted a white picket fence and suburban family for a cover. Yawn.”
Thom draws me to my feet and I sway like I’m caught in a storm. He slides a strong arm around my waist, drawing me against his body. I don’t want to touch him, this stranger who uses violence so easily. But my options for staying upright and getting out of here are limited.
“The internal leak is being investigated,” says Fox. “We should have something for you soon.”
Thom just nods.
“What do I say to Spider when he regains consciousness?” asks Fox.
“Tell him if he ever touches my fiancée again, I won’t be so diplomatic next time.”
Fox snorts. “Whatever. Cheerio, Betty. No hard feelings, yeah?”
Thom hustles me out of there as fast as he can.
“I know you’ve got questions.”
What an understatement. We’re upstairs in one of the many bedrooms inside the sprawling old ranch house. It’s somewhere in the wilds of one of the canyons, at a guess. No neighbors are in sight. Apart from Fox, the unconscious Spider, and a man working at a serious array of computers in the great room, the place seems empty. There’s basic furniture only. No pictures or keepsakes. Nothing to indicate it’s a home.
And it’s all so surreal. I want to keep pinching myself, but I hurt enough already. Which reminds me: “Was anyone else harmed in the explosion?”
“No.”
“It was meant to kill?”
“As best we can figure, the bomb malfunctioned. Went off early.”
“Someone actually tried to blow us up. I wonder…I went into your office looking for tape. I don’t usually go in there.”
His nostrils flare. “That could have been it.”
“So there’s a leak in your organization and someone wants to kill you,” I say, voice shaking. “Or you and me both?”
“You were paying attention back there.”
“I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” I almost laugh. Or cry. One or the other. “At least, I hope I’m not.”
“Babe—”
“Do not babe me.”
He takes a deep breath, pushing a hand through his hair. The past few months, he’s been so busy it’s longer than normal. Way overdue for a cut. “I never thought you were stupid, Betty.”
“No. Just desperate.”
He says nothing. Confirmation enough. Not that I needed it.
“Well?” I ask.
“Until we can identify who’s passing off information, we won’t know if the target is just me. It would, however, make the most sense.”
“Unless they wanted to kill me to hurt you. Though it wouldn’t hurt you, would it?”
His lips thin ever so slightly. “Given I cold-cocked the last person who harmed you, I think we can assume I care at least a little.”
“A little. That’s big of you.” I sit on the side of the king-size bed, trying to ease the nerves, tiredness, and pain. What I wouldn’t give for Tylenol or something stronger. A bottle of medicinal vodka, maybe. “What happens now?”
“Now we wait to see what the searches Badger’s doing on the computers dig up. We’re safe here for the moment.”
“Badger.” I snort. “Is there an Otter?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“You and your friends are a regular fucking zoo.”
The following silence is thick and heavy. Not comfortable at all. And to think I’d planned to spend my life with this man. This stranger.
“She referred to me and our life together as your cover. Does that make you a spy or a government agent or what?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh my God, are you a traitor?”
“No, Betty. The ones I work for…they’re an international group dedicated to keeping things as unfucked as possible. That’s really all I can say.”
“And these people, you kill for them?”
There’s the slightest of pauses before he answers. “When it’s necessary. There are some dangerous people out there. But other times I just gather information. Each job is different.”
“They usually involve you pretending to be someone you’re not, though, right? Lying to people?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. You’re very good at it.” I watch him carefully. “So are you doing this for the good of humankind or for the money?”
“Can’t it be both?” he asks all smooth-like. New Thom is slippery.
“What did you mean, my life depended on not saying anything about leaving you?”
“You know too much now. The only thing keeping you alive is that they, the people in charge, think you’re loyal to me and that I’m committed to you. If those beliefs change, then they will review their risk-reward calculation about keeping you alive.”
“All I know is that you name yourselves after animals and answer to some mysterious organization referred to as ‘they.’”
“That’s enough.”
“It’s ridiculous they’d want me dead just for knowing that.” I want to beat him with my fists. Scream and howl in rage. Maybe later when I’ve got the energy. “Is Thom Lange even your real name?”
“Thom is my name.”
“But Lange’s not your surname.”
“No.” He pauses. “Why did you want to leave?”
“Does it matter why I attempted to dump you, since we’re apparently now stuck with each other?”
“I thought you were happy.” The weird thing is, he sounds almost hurt. Which is crazy. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but—”
“You do remember this is a fake relationship you’re talking about,” I say between clenched teeth. “A lie that you manipulated and tricked me into believing.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other. Neither of us is happy.
“Given how badly I held up under pressure, I can almost forgive you for not telling me the whole truth. But I really don’t think I can ever forgive you for starting this relationship in the first place.”
“Everyone breaks under torture; it’s just a matter of when.” He doesn’t address the second issue. Doesn’t even go near it.
“Great.”
“You’re exhausted; you should sleep.” He nods to a door on the other side of the large bedroom. “Bathroom is through there if you want to clean up. I’ll check on you later.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be right outside. You’re safe, Betty.”
I don’t know what to say. This new Thom doesn’t feel safe at all.
And then he’s gone.
I have no idea where we are or how far from civilization we might be. And I have neither money nor shoes. My chances of making a successful getaway are slim to none. For now, there’s no other real option but to stay put and figure out this situation. My supposed fiancé seems to want to keep me alive and in one piece. It’s something, I guess.
The woman in the bathroom mirror is pale and pasty, battered and bruised. I turn on the shower, testing the temperature with a hand. Red marks line my wrists, further reminder of the crazy and violent day. My clothes stink of smoke and vomit, but there’s soap and shampoo, towels and a fluffy white robe. It’ll have to do. I need to put myself back together and deal.
Only the first tear leaves a trail in the soot and general mess of my face. A second tear follows fast. Soon my vision wavers and I step into the shower, hiding the sound of my crying with the running water. It’d be great to be able to handle this, to stay strong. But first I apparently need a minute to let it all out. All of the anger, stress, and horror of the past few hours. All of my fear.
Because I’m trapped. That’s what it comes down to in the end.