Up in Smoke (Crossing the Line, #2)(60)

“What are you going to do to stop me? Kill me?” There it was. The almost glowing evil that always transformed him. Made him appear to be a wax sculpture, frozen in hatred. Here she stood with the upper hand and his expression said, you can’t win. It was almost enough to make her believe it. Maybe he can’t be killed, she’d told Connor.

His confidence made her waver. What am I doing here? She tightened her grip around the skillet and battled back. “Yeah, maybe I am.” She took a step closer, felt her anger rising. “Don’t act so damn surprised. You don’t treat a human being the way you treated me and expect them to forget.”

Luther eyed the skillet. “Always blaming everyone else. Me, the system. We all have choices in life. We each choose our own path.”

“No. No.” The sound in her head started quietly, a beating of wings, but it might as well have been a symphony tuning up. It meant she was losing control, and that heightened the terror of being this close to her tormentor. “I didn’t f-fail. I have a job now, I’m—”

His harsh laugh cut her off. “How long do you think that will last? Look at you. You broke into my house to assault me. How long do you think it’ll take before they realize you’re just a broken toy?”

“No.” The wings beat louder. LOUDER. She heard a sound in the distance and realized she’d dropped the skillet. Her stepfather shot forward the retrieve it, jolting her into motion. They both grabbed on to the handle at the same time, resulting in a tug of war. Her survival instincts roared to the surface. Luther might be an evil man, but he hadn’t been in prison. He spent his days in an air-conditioned office, sipping Starbucks. She’d fought for her life behind bars. When you’d done it once, you never fought halfway again. Full throttle became your only setting.

His hand slipped down the handle and brushed against her skin, wrenching a scream from her throat. Burning. It’s burning. Erin twisted around and brought her boot down hard on his wrist. Once, twice, three times. He howled and dropped the handle, sending her reeling back at the loss of leverage. With the skillet in her hand, she launched herself forward again, meeting him halfway. She hadn’t expected him to charge. He must have seen something in her eyes that told him it was kill or be killed.

She held the skillet out of his reach, simultaneously bringing her forehead down on his nose in a full-force head butt. The crunch of cartilage echoed in the tiny room. He fell onto his back, holding his bleeding nose, shouting obscenities that were muffled by his hands. Erin came to her feet and loomed over him. This was it. Where she’d always pictured herself when revenge was allowed its fantasy. Standing over his cringing body with all the power in her hand. Power he’d once taken away. All she had to do was bring the object in her hand down on his skull and it would be over. No more wondering when he’d show up to terrorize her. No more threat of being locked away.

The ever-present matches in her pocket heated against her hip. She could already smell the singular scent the match strike would give off. Sultry. Decadent. So sweet. Crackles and pops sounded in her ears from the blessed fire that could take this all away. Erase it.

No more Connor. No more friends. No more team.

If she killed him…if she set fire to this house, those things would be taken away. She would have to run and leave them all behind. Even now, merely by breaking in and assaulting him, she might have damned herself to doing more time. Being put away in an institution. But she could walk away. She didn’t have to do this. There were people who could help her if she just asked.

What am I doing here? I’m doing nothing. I’m…leaving.

As soon as she made the decision, it hit her that this is where the true power lay. Walking away. Not giving in to the darkness. Not eliminating her fear, but controlling it.

“Stay away from me or I’ll come back and finish this.” Her throat felt sunburned. “Do you understand me?”

He didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell rapidly, hatred pouring off him in waves.

Erin tossed the skillet onto the washing machine with a loud bang and turned to walk out the back door, but his voice stopped her. “You won’t get away with this.”

She considered him a moment before sauntering back toward his prone body. He withdrew into himself the closer she got, making her smile. She reeled back with her fist and brought it down once, connecting with his already-damaged nose with all her strength. The blow rendered him unconscious.

“Tonight I will.”



Erin closed the side door of the house behind her.

And ran straight into Connor.

He didn’t budge an inch or try to steady her with his hands when she bounced right off of him. His hard form stood completely still in the darkness, except for his flexing jaw. Frustration, anger, helplessness was evident in every line of his strong body. His eyes were haunted. She could see that, even in the darkness. They were focused on the bridge of her nose where she could feel a fresh contusion, courtesy of her head butt. She wanted to kneel down in front of him and weep. Apologize. Tell him how much she’d missed him. Beg him not to lose faith in her. Tell him how she’d just overcome the need to do something bad because she couldn’t imagine being without him.

She couldn’t, though. No. If he was here, he knew who was inside. And if he went inside, he would kill her stepfather. Those were the facts and she had to deal with them. Now. Prevent any such outcome from happening. It would mean her restraint tonight had been for nothing, because if Connor had blood on his hands, he’d have to face the consequences instead of her. He’d have to live with it when he already lived with so much guilt every day of his life. She couldn’t allow him to add to it on her behalf. Couldn’t allow him to be arrested or taken away in cuffs. Or running for his freedom.