I made my way downstairs, noting that Myles had a fire going so the temperature in the house was nearly warm enough to take your coat off and not freeze but not quite there yet. There was no TV in the great room, but someone had found a stereo, and rock music piped through the cabin at a low volume. Gabe was stretched out on the tiny loveseat that would comfortably fit two small people, but Gabe’s large frame took up the majority of the space. Two other empty recliners sat on either side of the loveseat, facing the fire. They were empty because Myles and Kevin were sitting at the kitchen table with Nat, bowls placed in front of them. Not a single person lifted their gaze as I walked into the kitchen.
That irritated me, too.
And the sudden urge to shake Nat awake washed over me in an unwelcome wave. What the hell did I care if she didn’t acknowledge my presence? I meant nothing to her. I was her unpaid bodyguard. Nothing more.
The pan she’d used to cook was washed and set on the strainer next to a cleaned bowl—obviously, Gabe had eaten, as well. The counters were tidied. A towel hung over the handle of the stove the same way Nat did at my house and for some ungodly reason that irked me, too.
“Your bowl’s in the microwave.” Nat’s voice drifted from across the room. “I didn’t know how long you’d be.”
“Thanks,” I returned, and went to the microwave.
“I can make more if that’s not enough.”
Christ, that pissed me off.
“This is fine,” I lied.
After rushing around all day, only snacking on a few protein bars, I was hungry but I didn’t want Nat to feed me. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want Nat to make dinner or lunch or breakfast for any of us like this was some sort of domestic situation.
“Owen?” Her voice was closer now.
I craned my neck and looked over my shoulder to find her right next to me.
Unfortunately, I was distracted by her nearness, so goddamned distracted by the void of nothingness behind her eyes when she looked at me, I missed her raising her hand. Further, I missed it moving toward me, then lowering and landing on my forearm.
This was not going to work. I should’ve told Zane to send one of the other guys in my place. I should’ve stayed back in Maryland and done the jobs I was good at—hunting and extinguishing threats. I was not cut out for close cover. There were other ways I could keep Nat safe and do it keeping me safe.
“Yeah?” I forced out.
“There’s not much in the house…to eat I mean. But I saw a can of ravioli. I know it’s your favorite so I pushed it behind the clam chowder.”
I fought against my body going stiff. I failed in this attempt, and Nat felt it. Her left eye twitched, something I’d learned over the months was her tell. A small tic that told me she was uneasy. This was normally the juncture where I’d try to smooth that discomfort, but right then with her touching me, telling me she’d done something thoughtful, even if it was small coming from her, it was huge. All of it. Her taking the chance to lean close, speak softly, reach out on her own to hold on to my arm, something she had never done.
No, I didn’t have it in me. Not when there was a riot of thoughts running through my head.
“I know you have to be hungry, and not that I want the others to go without, I just thought…” Nat trailed off, leaving me hanging.
I didn’t know what she thought.
I had no fucking clue what was going on in her head.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Especially when my gut was clenching.
How the hell did she remember something so stupid like I only like canned ravioli? I barely remembered telling her about the guys making fun of me because I refused to eat MREs. If we were only in the field a few days I always packed ravioli and I’d eat them breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’d take the hit of a few extra pounds in my pack if it meant my stomach wasn’t cramping with shit Meals Ready to Eat that should’ve been call Gut Busters in a Bag.
“Thanks.” I barely got the grunted word past my lips when she removed her hand.
And you guessed it, that pissed me way the fuck off.
I didn’t want her touching me, but I did. More than anything I wanted her hands and mouth on me. I wanted to live in a perfect universe where I’d never met my ex-wife and Nat was not the daughter of a slain gangster, niece of the current king of the Chicago crime world. Just for a few hours, I wanted to live in a fantasy.
Dangerous thoughts for a man like me.
I had to be ready. I had to be steady. I had to have my shit wired tight.
I ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside and grabbed the bowl of soup.
I didn’t bother taking it to the table like civility called for. I stood at the sink, lifted the bowl to my mouth, and swallowed the lukewarm broth in a few gulps. I ignored Nat and the rest of the guys as I searched for the can of ravioli she’d hidden.
I needed time to myself, something I wouldn’t get. Not with Nat sleeping next to me. I dumped the contents of the can into my dirty soup bowl. Alarm bells rang and a feeling I knew well stole over me—bad shit was coming my way.
I could feel it deep in my bones.
Chapter 6
Hell had frozen over. I was thinking that was literal, considering I was currently living in the second circle, and each day I figured I continued down this hellish path—final destination the ninth and final circle of hell. I hoped it was blazing hot down there, because up here I was living in a frozen hell. It was only my second day and I was over it.
My nerves were shot, my emotions wrecked, and I wanted nothing more than to run away.
Two nights I had slept next to Owen. That wasn’t hell; that was unparalleled torture. Last night when I offered to sleep on the tiny loveseat in the living room Owen had grunted something I couldn’t understand then disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later he’d come out hair wet, chest bare, with a pair of sweatpants on. He’d muttered his apology for forgetting to grab a shirt. After that, I slipped into the bathroom, did my business, and by the time I was done, he was in bed, his back to me. Unfortunately, he’d found a shirt. I stood silently in the dimly lit room and wondered how’d he feel if I took all of his shirts downstairs and tossed them in the fireplace. As quickly as I had that thought it fled, that would only further my torture.
Just like yesterday morning, I’d slipped out of bed before Owen could awaken and made my way downstairs to start coffee. Only this morning, Gabe had beaten me to it.
His brown eyes lifted from his cup and his gaze raked over me from top to bottom. He didn’t bother hiding his scrutiny or his suspicion. I didn’t know the man all that well but I knew he didn’t trust me. Smart.
“Morning,” I mumbled. Gabe’s chin lifted and I took that as his returned greeting so I continued. “Do you mind if I have some?”
“Help yourself.”
He stepped out of the way but not out of the small kitchen which meant I felt his eyes on me while I opened the cupboard and grabbed a mug. Then I felt those eyes boring into the back of my head while I poured my coffee.
At this point, a normal person would ask what the problem was. A normal person might even reprimand him for staring. It was rude. It was also disconcerting. Yet, I said nothing because I knew better than to speak my mind, even about being examined like I was a piece of garbage. Which in a way I was, so it was good I remained silent. I didn’t need the reminder. I knew who I was.