Still Not Over You(62)

There's a hideous hum in my ears. Like reality coming unglued, heaven and hell both laughing in my face, at my ignorance as everything I thought I knew shatters.

I drag a hand over my face, thinking, letting my brain just run wild.

Dallas is here. Where I can keep an eye on him. That’s good.

Can’t prove that it was him. Not yet. I gotta get home, get that cigarette, maybe see if I can get the police to test it for DNA or something.

The gas can, too. Check for prints, unless he was smart enough to wear gloves. I can’t let him know that I suspect anything’s up, not while we’re here. He might just slip off and head back to clean up the evidence he was too overconfident to leave in the first place.

“Landon?”

Kenna’s voice yanks me from my thoughts. She’s watching me, worry drawing her brows together. I frown, shaking my head and reaching for the radio clipped to my belt. “Sorry. Planning. Listen, I’ve got to get with my guys and find Dallas. If you run into him, do not let yourself be alone with him if you can help it.”

“Dallas Reese? Why not?”

“I think he’s the one who set the fire.”

She gasps. “What?! Why would he do that? Why would he set the fire and then rescue me?”

“That’s a damn good question.”

Things are ticking together in my head, falling into place.

A man with a scar on his hand. An old story my dad and Reg Reese used to tell about a camping accident when they were teenagers hits me. How Reg burned his hands, leaving him wearing gloves or hiding them in his pockets most of the time.

I'd never paid attention to his hands before.

My memory of that day is hazy through the fury of a fight I’d had with my old man, something stupid, and I only vaguely remember familiar shapes. Can’t place Reg. Back then it wouldn’t have pinged as out of the ordinary for my father to be leaving with Reg when they were partners. Emergencies and on call bullshit came up all the time.

But if Reg was forcing my father into the car? And Kenna says that’s what she remembers...

Do I trust her?

I have to trust someone for once, don’t I?

But if what she said was right...

Then Reg Reese killed my father.

And his son, Dallas, probably knows it, and he's busy carrying on his father’s dirty, underhanded ways. He was willing to set the beach house on fire without even knowing if Kenna was in it, for fuck's sake.

Meaning he’d probably kill Kenna without a second thought.

White-hot fury burns through me, scouring me hard enough that there’s no doubt about how I feel about her. No doubt that whatever I fuck up, whatever I ruin, I'll always come back to her.

She’s a riptide, constantly pulling me under, and I’ll sink away and drown before I come up for air.

But we’ll sort that out later. I have to get through tonight. Especially when my senses are tingling, and I suddenly think Dallas had ulterior motives for maneuvering his way onto perimeter security for this job.

How far would he go to eliminate the competition?

Shit. Far enough to eliminate the client altogether?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I want to stay with Kenna, but right now, Milah’s probably in bigger danger. I capture Kenna’s arm, steering her gently back toward the dressing room.

“I want you to stay in here,” I say as I push the door open, ignoring James' curious look and Skylar's deadpan stare and Milah’s offended hiss. “James will keep an eye on you. No one in, no one out.”

Kenna squares her shoulders bravely. “I’ll be fine. Help take care of Milah.”

Milah jerks her head up, almost stabbing herself in the eye with an eyeliner pencil. “What do you mean, take care of me? I've already got two babysitters!” she demands. “Are there more creepers outside, or what?”

“Worse,” I say grimly, barely out of earshot. “Just stay here until it’s your turn to go on. If you’re lucky, the only thing you have to worry about is Kenna ripping your falsies off.”

She stares at Kenna. “Your name is Kenna?”

Kenna eyes Milah. “Did you think C-cup was on my birth certificate?”

Skylar looks up from the corner, her cold eyes shining like pale steel. “I like her, boss.”

Milah sniffs. I snort, then hook my arm around Kenna’s waist and drag her closer.

I need her to fortify me. Need to know she’s still mine, even after everything I’ve fucked up. Need her to know the words I can’t say right now, not with Milah pouting at us and Skylar gawking and James right outside the open door. I need a lot of things, and they’re right there in those widening eyes and the way she flushes and clings to my arms and falls against me instead of pulling away.

“Wait for me, Reb,” I murmur, then dip my head and catch her mouth in a kiss.

I want her pliant. I want her submissive. I want her willing, and I want to know I haven’t ruined everything between us, and fuck, yes, I’m greedy for the way she goes soft against me and yields and melts until it’s like holding liquid flame. Her body so hot against mine and her mouth an inferno of giving, hungry sweetness.

She lets me in.

She lets me the hell in, lets me take and taste and claim her, and shows it in the way she gasps my name against my lips. And the way her mouth goes ripe and full and needy against mine tells me I haven’t lost her.