BUFF Read online

  Becky folds her arms and moves in front of the attic door, blocking her mother’s entrance. “So?"

  “So... we haven’t spent much time together recently, dear. Why don’t I help you pack your things from the attic.” Her mother budges past her to access the attic door. Becky feels her stomach knot and chills chase along her spine, her heart beating faster and faster.

  Oh God… No, no, no!

  “Rebecca, come on.”

  Her mother places her hand on the door knob. One turn and Becky’s dirty little secret will be the death-of-her if she doesn’t think fast.

  How am I going to explain this? ‘Oh, Mother, it brings me great pleasure to introduce you to the man I’ve been hiding in the attic who may be caught up in a violent gang war and not to forget—the man I have a major crush on...’

  What if Colt panics and... No, he would never harm me or my family. Never.

  “Rebecca. What’s wrong with you?”

  What can she say to get her mother to go away? Her breath stalls, her heart pounds in her chest as her mother opens the attic door—

  “Mom!”

  Her mother jerks back, her hand on her heart. “My God, Rebecca! You made me jump, for heaven’s sakes. And please don’t shout, Toby is sleeping.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just, uh, I just remembered, I, uh…”

  “I really do worry about you sometimes. I don’t know where I went wrong with you.” Her mother shakes her head as her right foot seems to pound against the attic floor.

  “Don’t! I saw a really big hairy spider in there today!”

  “Aaahh!” Her mother flings herself out of the attic. “Ewww. Gross. Oh, yuck.” Her mother physically shakes her whole body as though a million spiders just ran all over her body and Becky takes the opportunity to shut the door and stand in front of it, guarding what lurks behind. “Really?” Becky can only nod. “Maybe you can sort the attic out yourself, dear.”

  “Yes, leave it to me, Mom.”

  Thank God her mother has an irrational fear of spiders.

  Her mother heads back down desperate to get away from the attic, but halts halfway down. “Rebecca, understand your father loves you and this family very much. Everything he’s done, he’s done for us. Don’t be too hard on him, dear.” When Becky says nothing in return her mother sighs and finally heads downstairs.

  Becky rests her whole weight on the door and sighs with relief.

  That was a close call...

  When she enters the attic she can’t see him at first. But then he comes out from behind, her heart skipping a beat. He must have heard her mother come in and hidden behind there.

  He walks away as though he hasn’t noticed her presence. His back is to her and she watches him pace the floor, slow but steady. She’s glad to see there is no visible wobble in his step. For a man who’s been shot only recently he seems almost perfectly healthy, maybe even strong enough to leave.

  Leave... He'll be out of my life as quickly as he came into it... But isn't that what I’ve been waiting for?

  Colt is a little out of breath and his skin looks like a collage of yellow and white paint. She knows he will be okay, but she doesn’t think it wise for him to over exert himself. The dark-blue black circles under his eyes bothers her, but she can’t blame his lack of sleep solely on his physical condition.

  Once the door clicks behind her and her own breathing gathers in a ball in her throat she predicts what will come next and unfortunately she is right. His feet halt, his back stills. He stops whatever he’s thinking and just remains. He doesn’t turn around.

  Somehow, Becky feels like the intruder.

  A wave of protectiveness overcomes her as she watches his hollow gray profile tilt in her direction. His breathing becomes shallow but there is a heavy rattle to it that she doesn’t like.

  “You should be resting."

  Nothing changes except the corner of his mouth that pinches. With the small amount of light in the room she can’t decipher whether he’s annoyed or glad to see her. Knowing Colt, or what little she knows of him, she is gathering neither.

  “I came to check… check your wound,” she murmurs.

  Why is everything with you like pulling teeth?

  He scratches the side of his face. His five o'clock shadow evident in the dark. “I'm fine."

  Becky sighs. “I know you're fine…” She ambles closer. “I still need to check."

  “I said I'm fine—”

  “Please.” The word makes him turn. Her voice is granite, slicing the thin veil of politeness she’s trying to gather. His arms come up from his sides in surrender, uncaring. The blue of his eyes film over and daze as he takes in her evening attire, stopping at her neckline and then traveling down again.

  He never looks her in the eye.

  Colt stands instead of sitting like she thinks he will, next to the small window. The moonlight is weak but he still manages to look… godly. His body is nothing like anything she’s seen before. He’s some kind of living, breathing paragon of an ancient Greek God. She takes strength in the fact that her fingers aren’t shaking and takes long strides forward, not wasting anytime.

  They face each other and she waits for him to lift the white shirt she’d bought him before leaving for her ’date’. Just thinking about it makes her skin twist like someone is ringing it like a rag. But the physical pain doesn’t compare to the emotional torture she suffered.

  Regrets killing her slowly…

  “What's wrong?" he asks, his deep, gruff question shoots through her. That feeling of being naked, exposed, heightens to a degree almost unbearable.

  “Nothing…” Becky purses her lips together. “…I'm just waiting for you to lift up your shirt."

  One of his brows arches and his head leans forward. “Getting me naked again, huh?” His lips tug at the corner as if she amuses him.

  “No, of course not.”

  “If you say so, Little Bit.”

  “Little Bit?” she asks, angling her head slightly down. She can feel beads of sweat on her brow, in her cleavage. He just has a way of doing something to her. When he’s close to her she has no control over her body. She hates that he can govern her like that, but what she hates more is that she likes it.

  “Yeah,” is all that he gives her until he whispers, “The little bit in my life that’s annoying,” and one dimple comes out to play with a sexy curl of his lips.

  He lifts his shirt and she places herself closer; closer than she wants to be.

  God he is extremely arresting this close-up. Her body clenches in private places, puckers and strains in others. Acutely aware of the precise rhythm of his hot breath it vanquishes her and she swears she just inhaled the same air he had only just exhaled. Without warning, his taste, his scent—is inside her. A rich, heavy scent of musk and leather and a crisp freshness. It paralyzes her ability to control her reactions to him. Her head spins a little, lightheaded.

  “Move a little toward the light,” she murmurs. He complies immediately.

  She presses her fingertips gently into the sore, red flesh. The swelling has definitely lessened. The bleeding has stopped and his fever is almost down to normal. The bandage is fresh from the morning and since he hasn’t bled she places it back on, setting it back over the healing wound.

  “Looks good.” She bites her lower lip over and over with her two front teeth, trying hard not to inhale his intoxicating scent.

  He clears his throat and stands straight. His face moves away from hers. “You do that a lot."

  “Do what?” She peeks up at him, dropping his shirt down and stepping a little away.

  He stares at her face. She isn’t sure where he is staring at or what he is looking for as his eyes become silver in the moonlight, swirls of white dancing at a hypnotizing pace.

  “Your mouth… You bite it a lot."

  Her lungs swell up and suddenly her mouth tingles; it feels on fire as if his gaze is physically touching that very part of her.

  �
��N-Nervous habit,” she says, turning away from him. He moves to face her but she refuses to return the gesture. She walks away, her back facing him, trying to escape what he’s unconsciously doing to her.

  “You have a lot of them.” She hears him snicker, the arrogance is evident in the small noise and her eyes squeeze shut.

  God he gets under my skin. I have to stop letting him get under me...

  “Yes, well, it’s not every day you have a criminal being held up in your house."

  “How’d you know I'm a criminal?" he says, somewhere behind her.

  “The gun kinda gave it away."

  “Could be an undercover cop." She hasn’t heard any footsteps but he sounds closer.

  “Do I look that dumb?” The dryness in her voice drips like acid.

  “Stupidity has nothing to do with it.” She finally turns to face him. “Just don't be so sure you know me."

  She surprises him by moving closer, her eyes squinting. He looks black and haunted in the dark part of the room where he stands. A foot away from him she uncrosses her arms. Her brows lower and almost meet as she tries desperately inside to untangle his mystery.

  Her question comes out breathy and unsure, “Who are you? Really?"

  Her tone seems to disturb him. She bites down on her lip. He watches her movement. Closely. His thumb traces the outer edge of his finger.

  “I'm not you're friend. You shouldn't trust me."

  She nods, fighting back tears that will undo her. “I know, I don't. Believe me."

  “Good."

  “Good.” She goes to move around him to get to the door, but he catches her arm and nudges her closer.

  “That doesn't mean you shouldn't trust.” His husky voice is hesitant. He licks his lips as his sight frames in on different parts of her profile. “You have someone, don’t you? This... date…" He sighs like it hurts him. "…Who you trust?"

  “There is no-one."

  Something beats and echoes under the lining of her skin, urging her forward and tearing her back. He leans over her.

  “No-one?"

  She sniffles and wipes beneath her nose before she braves herself to look at him. Her lashes are wet from unshed tears and reluctantly they trail slowly up his face, meeting his penetrating gaze.

  “No,” she clips out between another sniffle. “I'm fine. I don't need anyone." A tiny corner of her heart pulls hard.

  He has her.

  He can see right through her. Her loneliness, her solitude, it’s a part of all she is, but it has buried so deep beneath her need to survive. His eyes are telling her… he can see her.

  Really see her.

  His hand slips down her arm, but doesn’t loosen in strength. His thumb latches in the inner crease of her elbow and swishes back and forth over the fabric of her dress.

  She immediately pulls her arm away, wiping it as if he’s left a mark. “I don't need your pity."

  He straightens. “Who says it’s pity?” he says, his voice lowering dangerously.

  “Well, whatever it is—I don't need it."

  His nostrils flare as though stung by her sudden withdrawal. “Fine. If this is what you want."

  Her brows knit together. “What I want is none of your concern."

  His head cocks to the side; anger igniting in his eyes like a blue flame. “Do you even know what you want?"

  “Better than you.” She steps closer, squaring her shoulders. "You pretend you got me all figured out because to you I'm just some silly girl…"

  “It’s obvious to me you're miserable—"

  “I'm not.”

  “—That you hate being here.” His hand slices in the air, cutting her off as her mouth opens to reject his words. “You’re scared of the world—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “—And so you hide up here pretending you don't care. Pretending that you actually like the way your life is now because it's the only way you can survive."

  “Shut. Up." Her teeth grind hard together.

  “Start being honest with yourself for one goddamn second and you'd see that. Stop hiding away. Someone like you shouldn’t be locked up here hiding, afraid to go out and live. Stop being a coward—"

  “Are you done?”

  His chest heaves hard making the white shirt tighten around his broad chest. “Are you?” he says, breathlessly.

  For the first time she isn’t afraid of him. She’s too angry to be afraid, too angry at herself for being so transparent. Her shoulders rise and fall, the weight of defeat lying heavy on the side of her anger. Her hands rise, latching onto her sides.

  “You got it all figured out, don't you? Well you can pat yourself on the back because”—she shrugs her shoulders—“you're right. I don't trust. I hide, okay? Are you happy? I'm taking the easy way out.” Her voice shakes and she regrets speaking at all, but it’s too late to turn back. “I don't take chances and I don't wear my heart on my sleeve but maybe I have good reason. Things happen..."

  “Nothing,” he whispers, “nothing should make you want to cower away and die."

  “I’m trying... That's why I'm going to college."

  “So you can make a new hiding spot for yourself? Give yourself more excuses to not live."

  She’s never desired to shove someone so badly than she does now. There is so much misplaced anger ripping across his features. His face is red and tight over her and she has no idea why.

  He has the audacity to be mad at me? Why? What is all the pretense for? Everything is a game to him and I’m sick of it. My feelings aren’t something to be toyed with!

  “Stop pretending you know what it's like to be me. I did try and 'live' as you call it. I made the biggest mistake of my life… it’s been slowly killing me inside."

  “We all make mistakes."

  “Mistakes? You make them sound so easy to forget.” A nervous smile cracks on her harsh expression.

  “You gotta move on—”

  “Move on? I didn’t have a choice but to stop!” A bitter laugh escapes her mouth.

  For years now she’s been hiding her unhappiness, her shame, inside her. This whole affair with Colt and her date with Emmett—it’s pushed her over the edge and like a dam overflowing at the brim she finally lets everything out.

  “The mistake I made, oh I think it was more than a mistake to drink every night, party with people I didn’t even know only to have my drink spiked by some bastard who took me out into the outback to rape me over the hood of his red truck!” The words rush from her tongue before she can bury them back inside her.

  “Outback...?” His eyes dart to the side, his brow furrows. “Rape?”

  “You really don’t remember me… do you?” Her eyelashes flutter for a second. The pain of yesterday, returning.

  He looks back at her, shaking his head faintly. “What’d you mean?”

  Her heart races. For some reason she's terrified of him finding out the truth of who she really is. But there’s no going back.

  “We’ve met before, Colt... Think back four years—me with shorter hair, bright red it was… back then… lots of make-up...” He looks at her as if he's looking at a ghost. She places her hand on her right arm indicating the bullet he took for her. “You saved me, Colt.”

  His eyes dart everywhere as though he’s trying to focus on reality. They snap back to hers. “That... that was you?”

  She slowly nods her head. “So don’t talk to me about making mistakes—some you just can’t fight.” She waits, her eyes on his, but he doesn’t react. He doesn’t say anything. His dark presence just lingers over, stalls on the edge. "I need to get out of this dress." She turns toward the door. She wants to runaway, to never come back.

  “Wait." He grabs her hand, forcing her to stay. "Four years ago... then that means…" He lets go of her as if her touch burns him. "…You were only—”

  “Fourteen.” She fidgets with her dress, desperately hoping he doesn’t judge her. “It’s amazing how a bit of eye-liner and a short skirt can make
you look older...”

  “Jesus Christ..." The breath he draws out is long and heavy as if it weighs a ton. "Jesus, Becky… you… what the hell made you drink so much at fourteen?”

  The urge to look away overwhelms her then and she pads over to the window. She can’t look at him and say the rest. His eyes are too emotional, two brewing storms of discontentment. He still looks a bit angry, but at what she can’t tell. So instead she stares out at the velvety night Sky.

  She starts slowly, her breath shaky, “I was thirteen at the time... I didn’t know what I was doing, he… he was twenty-one, the town’s heartthrob, all the girls crushed on him." She laughs nervously, shaking her head, her eyes lost in the pain. "His father owns this big pharmaceutical company—good-looking as well as rich... One night I had a fight with my parents... We were poor... life... life was hard...” Her throat clogs up and she takes a second to breathe deep.

  “I went to the park to get away and there he was. He was drinking and he seemed so happy when he saw me. He genuinely seemed to care that I was upset. He listened, he understood.” She smiles bitterly, recalling her naivety and loathing herself for it. "First time I tasted alcohol. I didn’t care because all I wanted was to feel not alone. He made me feel... special.” Her eyes drop to the floor. Her body trembles, remembering. “The whole night is a blur… The drink got to me I suppose and the next thing I remember was being naked in the car under him. I’ve never felt so cheap, so stupid. He dressed and got out of the car… He didn’t even say anything to me before he left… It happened so fast...”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asks, softly.

  She should have stayed quiet.

  She likes the quiet.

  “How could I? His father is good friends with my father. When it happened, about a month later, my father gets offered this amazing job. All of a sudden my family has more money than we could ever have dreamed of. Before... before we were so poor we couldn’t feed ourselves some days. If I said something, my father would have lost his job... And how could I look my parents in the eye and tell them that their innocent thirteen-year-old daughter was not so innocent? How could I tell them I let a man take my virginity in the backseat of a car? Don’t you understand? It would have destroyed my family.”