Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,73
what he found while he was snooping in my house. “I’m using it as inspiration for my next book. And in order to use it, I need as much information as I can get.”
“Oh, and that’s better,” he clipped. This time, fury leeched into his words. Real fury. Something I hadn’t truly heard in his voice before now.
“It’s none of your business,” I said, not letting myself admit his fury rattled me.
“Don’t insult either of us by even pretending you think that,” he replied. “You’re a smart woman, Magnolia. You know you’re playing with fire here.”
“I do,” I replied. “But I don’t care.”
He stepped forward, eyes glittering with a threat, a promise. I’d seen a hint of this side of him before. Because this dark, dangerous, menace was the only side he had to him. He’d muted it. I saw that now.
“I want you to stop.”
“I want you to get back in touch with reality and realize what you want will never factor into my decisions,” I replied.
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he growled.
I swallowed the fear he wanted me to feel. “Oh, I do.”
He blinked. I’d surprised him. Satisfaction warmed me. I figured that might be a hard thing to do. “You do?”
I guessed he thought I’d Googled him and found out all his horrible secrets. I had. Googled him, that was. But I hadn’t found anything. Not a damn thing. Which told me he surely had a lot of horrible secrets. Everyone had a presence on the internet, even if some of them weren’t as elaborate as my own. Even if they were borderline recluses living in the woods in Washington. It was inescapable in this age.
Unless you had a lot of bad shit to hide.
Taking one look at Saint, you knew that.
But yeah, having nothing online, that meant he had the really bad shit.
Of course, I’d never thought Saint was his real name, but I was thinking his real name might’ve been attached to a few warrants.
That in itself should’ve scared me off.
Yet here I was.
“I do,” I agreed with him.
Watching him pale even in the slightest gave me total satisfaction. Which lasted about two point five seconds because satisfaction dissipated and pure fear replaced it.
Saint became the nameless man with nothing but ghosts on the internet and skeletons in his closet, and he looked ready to make me into a fricking ghost, thinking I knew his dirty little secrets.
“I mean, I know what everyone is capable of,” I stuttered.
He tilted his head at me in annoyance, murderous glare still in place. I wondered if he was physically capable of anything else.
“I know you’re a tough guy,” I continued, refusing to let him intimidate me. “And tough guys love to convince the world that they are capable of all sorts of horrible things in order to make sure they get whatever they want. Or maybe just to survive. But that’s not a special trait, being capable of anything. We all are. Maybe in the right circumstances. Definitely in the wrong ones.”
I paused, jutting my chin up at him in defiance. “So, am I scared of you because you’ve faced your moment of having to be capable of anything? Sure. I’m not an idiot. I’m not too stubborn to admit it. But fear doesn’t make you special. I’m smart enough to know to have a healthy dose of fear allotted toward everyone I encounter. I’m even less scared of you than I would be a businessman in a nice suit and a good haircut. You wear your sins on your sleeve, Mr. Saint. It’s those who hide them underneath layers of normalcy, they’re the really scary ones.”
He stared at me. For a long time. Murder danced in his gaze. Cruelty. Harsh understanding. Now was the time he would walk off. Out of my life. Now was the time for me to banish him. I’d got what I wanted, hadn’t I? Sex? The start of my story.
But the story wasn’t done, was it?
It was far from done.
And I’d written plenty of books alone. Good books. I didn’t trust myself to finish this one without Saint’s presence. In fact, I couldn’t finish it until I got more from him. And he got more from me.
The wall showed him some things.
A glimpse at my true nature.
But not everything.
I had to give him something else. Something I really fucking wanted.
“I’m ready,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. I was surprised I was able to speak. “For nothing between us.”