The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,131
the shit I read. You were there, though. The little girl caught on camera. One everyone said was nothing but a ghost.”
“That’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. About that. And about the picture. I just …. I wanted to protect the only thing Russ had left in this world. You should know, he really was a good man.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I exhale a shaky breath, doing my best to hold back the sob trapped in my throat. “We didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but he was good.”
“All these years, I thought he abandoned us to get drunk and gamble away his life.”
“Well, he did get drunk. But I don’t think he ever wanted to abandon you. I feel like … everything that’s happened to you. To your family is--”
“It’s not your fault. There are far less noble reasons for a man to up and leave.”
“Maybe. But it never made sense to me why he would. He said my father saved his life once.”
Thierry shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“He claimed it was reason enough for him to raise me. I guess … it’s possible. Him saving me was reason enough for me to stay with him all these years, when I could’ve easily run.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pack of smokes. A tap against the bottom pops one loose, and he tugs it out with his lips. Tucked into the plastic is a pack of matches, and he strikes one to light his cigarette. For whatever reason, watching him succumb to his own vice is somehow enthralling to me. Thierry is wound so tight, it’s somewhat comforting to see that even a vicious wolf can become unraveled.
After a long drag, he tips his head back, blowing the smoke off. “Was he in pain when he died?”
“No. I convinced him to allow home hospice in. He died in his sleep.”
Cigarette dangling loosely from his fingertips, he flicks the growing ash away. “Earlier … did I hurt you?”
“I cut your face with a razor, and you’re asking if you hurt me?”
Frowning, Thierry stares off, and I push onto my knees. Wedging myself between his bent legs, I feel his body stiffen, his arms reluctant to open for me. I snag his cigarette and take a drag of it, before stamping it out into the dirt beside us, then I pry his arms apart and wrap them around me.
As I settle myself on his lap, I rest my hand on his heart, taking in the steady beat beneath my palm. With the excess sleeve of his shirt that hangs over my hand, I try to daub away some of the smeared blood on his face from the cut I left there, but it’s mostly dried now. The cut itself will undoubtedly leave a scar. “I think it may need stitches. I know how, if you want me to. Your dad was no stranger to bar fights.”
“You talk about him like I don’t know who he was. What he was.” The bitter bite in his tone is telling. Whether he admits it, or not, there’s a part of him that resents me. And his father, it seems.
“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” This is why I hate human interaction. I’ve never been good at it.
Gaze caught on his lips, I don’t immediately notice that I’ve leaned into him, until the first brush of his mouth feathers over mine. My stomach tightens. The tickle of silk wings flutters inside of me, and I shudder a breath through my nose. It certainly isn’t my first kiss, but it feels every bit as innocent. A stolen moment that belongs to neither of us. Wisps of the forbidden dancing over my skin that burns hot beneath his borrowed shirt.
Strong hands grip my arms, his kiss turning rough. Greedy. A groan rumbles across my lips, vibrating his frustration, and does nothing but send a new flush of arousal between my thighs. Taking hold of my hips, he guides me over the hard bulge in his pants, and I grind against him, feeling his fingers dig into me. Hard enough they’ll likely leave a bruise.
Arms push me away, and he exhales a growl in the cold space between us.
It’s obvious he hates this. Hates that he wants this as much as I do.