rage I'm feeling toward Havoc as a whole out on him. Maybe I feel safe to do that, like I'll somehow get a better reaction from him than any of the others. If so, it's a false sense of security. “You know about Nurse Yes-Scott, and yet you do nothing about her either. So don't lie to me and say you'd have stopped it. If it didn't interfere with Havoc's plans, then maybe.”
Those full pink lips of his twist up into a smile, the darkness in that expression at odds with the rest of his appearance. Callum looks like a fairy-tale prince, ready to ride in on a white horse and save the day. In all reality, he's the villain, the one you're supposed to hate, but can't because he's too damn pretty. That's how he gets you in the end, like a poisonous butterfly, too beautiful for the crow to resist.
“What I mean to say, Bernie, is that we weren't there when it happened; we didn't film it.”
I turn in a small circle, pacing in place, trying to keep my hands to myself. My go-to reaction to everything is violence. Despite my anger right now, I don't actually want to hurt Callum. To be quite honest, I'm not sure that I could hurt Cal, even if I wanted to.
He might be able to beat me.
Maybe.
“Even if you didn't film it,” I bite out, pausing and curling my hands into fists at my sides, “you knew about it. All this time, you've held Neil Pence's smoking gun in your hands, and you chose not to pull the trigger.” Callum watches me carefully, his blond hair bright beneath the track lighting above our heads, the muscular curves of his biceps dotted with sweat.
He's staring at me like he … feels sorry for me.
That look makes me want to kill him.
“What do you want me to say, Bernadette?” he asks me, cocking his head slightly to one side, as cute as a puppy gazing at his master. Only, this boy is no puppy. He's cute, sure, but underneath all of that pretty, there's a whole hoard of ugly. “I killed a man to protect you last night. Do you think I would lie to you now?”
I grit my teeth.
I'm obstinate, but even I can't deny that.
“Why?” I ask, putting my hands together in a prayer position and gesturing at him with them. “Just tell me why.”
Callum pauses for a moment, pulling in a deep breath, and then holding out both hands for me.
It doesn't take a genius to know he wants me to dance with him again. Why, I'm not sure, because I'm a shitty dancer. Maybe because it's the only way he knows how to express himself?
Even though it fucking kills me, I put my hands in his and let him pull me close. The track switches to Rise Above It by I Prevail and Justin Stone. The song starts slow, so Callum and I do, too.
He pulls me close, plastering us front to front, his movements forcing my own. He turns me into a decent dancer by simply using his form to dictate what I do with mine.
Doesn't make me any less pissed.
My very cells vibrate with rage, and I know he can feel it. I know he can.
His hands, my hips, it’s impossible to tell where Cal’s body ends and mine begins. He walks me backward, until we’re in the center of the room, using his foot to sweep one of mine out from underneath me. I dip back, and he catches me like it’s nothing, lifting me up and then hauling me into his arms. We turn in a slow circle before Callum sets me down again.
His fingers trail down the side of my face as our mouths come close enough to kiss, but then the drop in the song comes, and Cal pulls back from me, encouraging me to spin in place. He lifts me up by the hips and my legs go around him, the music fading to a slower beat. My fingers dig into his blond hair as he turns us in another circle, my gaze tilted down toward his.
I don't quite expect him to push me against the mirror, to let my body slide down the front of his until we're face-to-face. Cal leans in and captures my mouth with his, leaving me with the taste of regret and pain on my lips.
It’s a kiss for the ages, a defining moment in the storybook