Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(10)

“Why did you buy it? If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, hoping to encourage him to continue talking.

He looked away before he muttered, “I couldn’t beat the price.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed even to herself. Had she really expected him to say that he’d bought the house because he wanted to be closer to her? She really was pathetic. They hadn’t spoken in years and here she was harboring fantasies that he missed her, even cared about her.

“I’d rather own my own home than deal with a possible rent hike or pain in the ass tenants and landlords.”

She nodded absently as she thumbed through her notebook. “That’s why I decided not to live at the dorm.”

“Yeah, dorm life can be pretty hectic,” he said distractedly.

Marty looked up at him and frowned. His jaw was clenched tightly shut and he seemed to be averting his eyes to the left. His posture had gone from sexy to ramrod stiff in the short time since she’d looked away from him. The backs of his knuckles were bleached bone white against the dark tan skin covering his now clenched hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned that his shoulder was troubling him.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve gotta go.”

He stood up, moving slightly to the left as if he were avoiding something in front of him even though there was nothing even remotely close to him and headed for the door. She noted that his eyes were still avoiding looking anywhere to the left.

“O-okay, I guess I’ll see you around then,” she said, frowning as he practically stormed out of the room. A minute later she climbed off the bed to watch him walk across the street. Whatever they were giving him for pain wasn’t enough, she thought as she watched him walk stiffly towards his house.

Chapter 3

Tristan could feel several pairs of eyes watching him as he walked across the street. He knew without looking back that his mother was undoubtedly watching him as she tsked at him.

He had no idea what the woman wanted from him, never had. Truth was he loved her, more than he’d ever loved his birth mother. For as long as he could remember, he tried not to love her or even like her. He did his damndest to keep his new parents and older brother at a distance, but slowly they’d managed to make him love and accept them. Problem was that it felt wrong. He was a freak, a mistake. He used to feel like he was tricking them into loving him. Now he loved them more than anything and couldn’t imagine a life without them, which made him more careful around them. If they ever found out…..

A slight tremor ran up his back, letting him know that Marty was also watching him. He fought against the urge to look back even while wondering if he’d see her smiling at him or frowning. Probably frowning, he was a cold bastard after all. He knew the way he’d walked out on her just now was rude, but he hadn’t had much of a choice. He wouldn’t have been able to sit there any longer while enduring the screams.

“Hey! Look at me! I know you can see me!” the bastard who wouldn't shut the hell up demanded.

Tristan cringed inwardly, but on the outside he remained calm, cold and unaffected. A few seconds later the man screamed in frustration as he jumped in front of him, trying to block Tristan’s path. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck as he smoothly sidestepped the man and the metal pipe sticking out of his neck.

Tristan could have easily stepped through him and dealt with the sudden chilling effect that always accompanied that move, but he detested that sensation, always had. As calmly as he could, he walked straight for his front door, leaving the man trailing after him.

“Come on, don’t be a dick! All I want you to do is go to my house while my wife is away and grab some things out of the house before she finds them. I don’t want her to find out that I’ve been f**king her sister!” the man snapped.

Tristan shook his head in disgust. Why was he surprised? He really shouldn’t have been. The requests he received from the dead were never selfless. They either wanted help catching their killer, which as a detective, he really didn’t mind doing. Hell, it was the reason he took the job. He figured he’d put his abnormality to good use. Other than that, he received requests for revenge. He couldn’t even count the number of times ghosts begged him to kill on their behalf. Other times he was asked, no, more like ordered, to straighten out the shit the dead left behind. They wanted to make sure the relatives that they’d hated didn’t see a cent of their money, or they wanted to rub it in their spouse’s face that they screwed around. No one ever sought him out with an unselfish motive.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. Shayne had come to him eighteen years ago to help him as unbelievable as that sounded. Back then, he’d been an eleven year old kid, scared shitless and angry at everything and everyone. His parents were at their wits end, but unlike his birth parents they weren’t willing to give up on him. They did the opposite in fact.

His father started to refuse overtime so that he could spend more time with him. They went to ballgames, weekend trips to Boston, movies and just hung out. His mother bent over backwards to race home between classes so that she could be there when he got home from school everyday. She’d bake him cookies, play a game with him or help him with his homework before she had to race back to Reese College to teach her next class. Hell, even his brother Denny started dragging him along on his dates and, when any of his girlfriends bitched about having a little kid along, she was history.