Absorbed (Devoured, #1.5)(4)

I feel disappointment, pity and loathing. And yeah, I feel f*cking fear. Not love.

I touch the mute button on my navigation screen to silence the Five Finger Death Punch song that’s playing on the radio. I think of what I should say to her, but then I say f*ck it and get right to the point.

4:48PM: Can you talk? We need to talk about this shit between us.

I can nearly hear the laughter in her soft voice when she immediately counters a minute later.

4:49PM: This shit between us?

Is she f*cking with me?

4:49PM: Don’t play games, Sam. You know exactly what I mean.

She doesn’t answer right away. Probably coming up with ways to take advantage of the situation, ways to squeeze more cash out of me before she commits to having an adult conversation. But when she does eventually respond, she manages to surprise me.

She’s already in California. In Santa Monica, to be exact. She wants to meet me in an hour, but I’m having a hard time trying to figure out why the hell she’s here of all places.

I’m almost expecting her to send one more message. A request for me to bring my checkbook or something equally as f*cked up, but she doesn’t. That just makes me wonder what the hell she’s got planned.

I make it to the Pier with a half an hour to spare and go ahead in to the amusement park we’ve agreed to meet at. Sam’s rarely ever on time, but she’s already waiting for me near the entrance, pacing in front of the food court and taking long drags on a cigarette.

She notices me almost immediately, despite my black beanie and sunglasses. Her slate gray eyes drag over me, a mixture of appreciation, lust, and disgust filling them.

“You still look like you,” she comments, the moment I’m within hearing distance. She dips her head to the tattoos on my wrist, which are somewhat visible even though I’m wearing long sleeves. “You’re not fooling anyone, Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe. You never have.” Then she shrugs her thin shoulders. “Well, your disguises haven’t fooled anyone. You’ve managed to convince everyone that you’re such a—”

“Keep that shit down,” I warn. She starts to respond, but I pluck the cigarette from her mouth, drop it on the ground and crush it beneath the sole of my shoe. ”And don’t do that in here. There’s kids around..”

She stands on her toes—it doesn’t help her much in the height department compared to me—and presses her thin body close to mine. She’s so f*cking skinny. She’s lost even more weight since I last saw her and that was only a couple of weeks ago.

“Afraid I’ll get kicked out?”

I cock an eyebrow. “No, thinking some soccer mom will beat the shit out of you for blowing smoke in her kid’s face.”

She lowers herself until she’s standing flat on her feet and then leans back, glaring up at me with eyes that look too big for her face. When we were still married—hell, even in the years after when we f*cked each other because it seemed impossible to let go—she was healthy, beautiful. Not strung out on everything she could buy with my money.

“And here I was thinking you didn’t care if I walked off the top of a building, Lucas,” she says, and I cock my head to the side and force the corners of my lips up. She returns the expression.

“Why are you here, Sam?”

She ignores my question and instead, loops her arm through mine. I want to shake her off, but for the sake of not making a scene and not hurting her, I let her hold on. “Walk with me, baby,” she says. I don’t miss the desperation in her voice. I’ve heard it so many times over the past few years that I can pick it out in a crowded room.

But f*ck, it’s something I never want to hear.

We walk for a long time, all the way back to the Ferris wheel, before either of us say anything. At last, I untangle myself away from her grip and touch either side of her shoulders gently. “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life doing this with you.”

She looks confused for about ten seconds and then she sneers. “Really, Lucas?”

“I’ve never been more f*cking serious in my life.”

Sliding past me, she steps behind a few kids in line to ride the Ferris wheel. I stare at the back of her head, at the smooth, short black hair that was colored red only a couple weeks ago. I watch the way her shoulders tremble slightly beneath her thin gray t-shirt. The way she hugs herself tightly to hold herself together. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I join her.

She doesn’t meet my gaze when she says, “You’re the one who f*cked things up.”

“Yeah,” I say, and a pang of fear punches me in the chest. “I did.”

“You’re the one who—.” She releases her grip on herself to drag her hands through her hair. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“For you to leave me alone. I’ve paid you—f*ck me, I’ve paid you. It’s time we end this. If I want to be with someone else, I should be able to—”

Her lips part open, but she quickly replaces her surprise with a harsh look, making her look at least ten years older than she is. “Of course this is about the bitch I met at Cilla’s party.” Her voice deepens with anger when she references Sienna . . . and Cilla. “Cilla was looking like her usual drunk slut self. Makes me wonder about this new company you’re keeping.”