N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(46)

“Can you…” Lenny trails off. I duck my head into the bedroom in time to see her roll onto her side, her back to me. “Never mind.”

“What?” I bark, frustrated in more ways than the raging hard-on beneath my sweats.

“Can you just lay in the bed with me for a while? Just until I fall asleep? I’m not a good sleeper, and I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Her question surprises me, considering she was preparing for torture not thirty minutes ago and a fight only a few seconds before.

Reluctantly, and knowing I won’t get any sleep at all with her right next to me, I get into bed and rest my hands behind my head.

How the fuck did I get here? Lenny’s right. What am I doing with her?

“Can you answer one teeny, weeny, tiny question and give me the truth?” she asks quietly. “Have you ever killed someone?”

I can’t be honest with her about so much right now, but this I can give her. I’ll show her who I really am and it’ll be much easier when it’s time to let her go.

If I let her go.

“Yes,” I answer to the ceiling.

“More than one person?” She rolls over to face me, her green-blue eyes searching mine, her lips parted awaiting my answer.

I give her a curt nod.

“Tell me about one,” she presses.

My head snaps in her direction. “That shit isn’t important. Plus, you’ve got anxiety, and the last thing I need right now is for you to fester on what I tell you and grow it in your head into something it’s not. Then, you really won’t be able to sleep.”

She thinks for a moment. “Actually, it will fester more if you don’t tell me. Because what will happen is that my imagination will get away from itself, and I’ll lay awake picturing you slaughtering entire villages of women and children like a Viking.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “That escalated quickly.”

She shrugs and rests her cheek on top of her hands. “Don’t blame me. Anxiety sets the rules. I’m just the messenger.”

The few inches of space between suddenly us feels like an ocean, and I want nothing more than to pull her against my chest.

“Fine,” I submit, but if she wants to hear the truth, that’s exactly what I’m going to give her. “He was someone who knew the consequences of playing this game, but he betrayed us anyway. I didn’t plan on killing him, but like a fucking idiot, he freaked out and pulled a gun. Shot a friend of mine twice. Luckily, he didn’t kill him, but then the guy turned his gun on me.”

“So, you killed him,” she finishes, her eyes never leaving mine.

I turn onto my side and without thinking I reach out and push a lock of hair from her eyes.

I pull back my hand and nod. “So, I killed him.”

She scrunches her nose. “No village of women and children then?”

I’ve never met anyone that thinks the way she does, and I can’t decide if it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever encountered or the devil himself testing me and the limits of my lust for her. “No. Never. Just a guy who played the game and lost.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” she says with a yawn. “Thank you for telling me a truth, even if it’s not the one I really wanted.”

I roll over to my back again, and stiffen when she scoots closer, curling up beside me as close as she can get without touching me. I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but the relief that usually accompanies such a sigh is nowhere to be found and instead the only thing I’m filled with is a lingering sense of dread.

“Get some sleep,” I whisper.

Lenny doesn’t answer.

I look down and find that her eyes are already shut. Her breathing is even. I run my fingers down her cheek. And again, without thinking, I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I guess you will be able to sleep after all,” I say in an almost inaudible whisper. “Even though I just told you how I killed your boyfriend.”





Chapter Seventeen





NINE





I’m at a truck stop. The smell of gravy from the cafe twenty yards away taunts me as I sit inside the cab of a big rig about to do something I’ve never wanted to do less. However, my growling stomach and inconsistent thoughts remind me of why I’m here.

So, does the eager look from the burly man in the driver’s seat.

At first, I intended to rob him. Steal something of value or possibly even some cash, but it was a terrible plan. His wallet is on the dash over the steering wheel, within arm’s reach but too close to the man behind that wheel.

I make a new plan, probably equally as terrible, but it’s all I got.

Distraction.

I unbutton my pants and pull out my cock ignoring the masculine gasp from beside me and the sickening feeling in my empty gut.

“You’re huge, kid,” the man says. I can smell his rank breath across the truck cab.

This isn’t going to work unless I can actually distract him, so it has to, at least, seem real. I close my eyes and try to pretend he’s not watching me. I picture a beautiful supermodel from the swimsuit issue I used to hide under my bed at my last foster home. I’m able to get semi-hard and am about to open my eyes to see if my distraction is working when I feel the heat of his rank breath on my neck.