Page 8 of Antihero (Tregam’s Fractured Souls #3)

She bites her lip, toying with her wet blue gloves, taking them off and getting ready to replace them. "I’m just running late on the rooms. I thought you'd be out for longer."

My chest constricts. I'm not the ghosting type. I hate doing that, leaving people to wonder what they did wrong, wondering if you simply got what you wanted from them and lost interest. Seeing her now, the feeling, the pull towards her hasn’t faded. She distracts me more than I thought possible.

Maybe she’s not the Wraith. Maybe I'm just a dickhead. “About the other day,” I've started speaking before I can stop myself. “I'm sorry. I’ve been sleeping poorly. That’s all.”

Paige manages a small, unconvinced smile. Can’t blame her, I’m damn unconvincing. "I'm done in here now, so…"

I thought I could let this go. Let her go. But seeing her now… I can’t. She could be the Wraith. She could’ve been faking her interest and everything else in me in some disillusioned attempt to save her own skin. I need to know.

Paige goes to pull my door open, and I catch her arm.

When I pull her to face me, her breath catches.

Not quite a gasp, not yet. Then I see, if I’m going to base all of this on a gasp, I should hear it again.

Never mind the fact I’ve wanted to hear it again since that first time she stumbled into this very room.

I knock the door closed with my heel, and her eyes lock on mine, grey pools of wonder and suspicion at once.

I kiss her, hands on her waist to pull her flush against me.

Her hands grip my shoulders, halfway between pulling me closer and pushing me away.

I give her a chance to decide, and when her fingers grip my shirt, her tongue skimming my bottom lip, I push her back against the wall, my hand snaking behind her to keep her flush.

Her nails dig into me through my shirt. She’s arching against me, her sweet tongue finding mine.

My hand grazes the side of her throat, fingers working into her braid as I tug her head back, opening her mouth to me.

Her breathing is heavy, and she moans softly as I bite her lip.

She gasps, then presses closer, harder. As though she can’t get enough.

Neither can I. But I need to rein myself in.

Which proves difficult when, now on her toes, Paige hitches her knee over my hip.

I’m already rock hard, and given that I’m wearing only my workout sweats and singlet, there’s no disguising that.

Which is fine, because I’m not going to.

Paige drags her tongue against mine, biting my lip, drawing a noise out of me that muffles against her mouth.

I jolt hard against her, crushing her back against the wall, almost a thrust. Fuck me, what was I doing again?

Right. The gasp.

I tighten my grip on her hair, pulling her head back, her mouth away from mine.

I grab onto her thigh where she’s hooked her leg over my hip and turn slightly, jamming hard against her exposed centre, the hardness of my cock through my thin pants right where she’s most sensitive, most attuned to at this moment.

Her breath catches before I grind against her.

Then she gasps aloud.

With effort, I release the pressure, loosening my grip in her hair. Her eyes open slightly, though her eyelids stay hooded, expression beckoning me on.

I release her, hands back to her waist, pressing her gently back to the wall so that both her feet come to the ground. “I, uh, got a little carried away there.”

Not a lie.

“Oh?” she asks with a soft giggle, then takes a deep breath. “Um.”

I squeeze her slightly, leaning so that my lips brush her cheek, but I don’t kiss her again. “Dinner tonight?”

Her eyes have regained their bright intelligence as she considers me. “You didn’t really cancel because you were tired .”

“No,” I admit, and before she can ask, I promise, “Maybe one day I’ll tell you why.”

Though… she might not like finding out.

***

We’re the only patrons who sit outside. The wide deck is dim but for the soft light switched on over our table, and the orange glow of the heat lamp that chases away just some of the chill.

The restaurant is busy on the other side of the bay window, the distant hum of chatter filtering out from the brightly lit interior.

But I don’t like the noise, it makes it too hard to think, to notice things. Out here, it’s fresh, quiet, others feeling far away.

Paige is wearing something similar to the night we saw the movie, a brown skirt and opaque stockings. I find myself wondering if they go all the way up this time.

"You never wanted to leave? Go someplace…" I gesture loosely at the darkness beyond the edge of the deck, the distant and constant sound of the ocean competing with the hum from inside, "else?"

Paige shrugs lightly. I can smell her perfume, something mild and floral. "I don't know, I’ve been here pretty much as long as I can remember. I wouldn't know what to do in a place like Tregam."

My lips twitch. "I wasn't suggesting Tregam."

"No,” she smiles down at her soup, idly circling a piece of bread in it. “It’d be nice to go somewhere completely different, wouldn’t it? Some place with calm blue seas and white beaches. Where summers are long.”

“Sounds idyllic.” I smile. “And hard to imagine.”

With a laugh, Paige agrees, “It does. Tregam feels more real. I hear it’s turning nice there now, though.” She pops the bread in her mouth.

I sip my wine, or at least pretend to. I don't drink alcohol at the best of times. Which this most certainly isn’t, I keep reminding myself. Even though sitting here with her feels so… I don’t want to say right , but normal. Nice. Like another life I could’ve had.

The heat lamp is bringing a flush to her cheeks, and Paige shrugs out of her heavy jacket, though she’s still plenty layered up, with a wool pink scarf and sweater underneath. “Not much of a drinker?” she asks, eyeing my still-full glass.

I shrug. “Not really. I guess this island is a good place not to be a drinker. Can’t imagine much of a White Rock nightlife.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Would I?”

Paige leans forward on the table, like she’s divulging a secret, and asks, “Have you heard about the old bomb shelter on the edge of the forest reserve, near the middle of the island?”

“Yeah, it was built during the war, right?”

“Right. Well, it was converted, a decade or so ago, into an underground nightclub. Totally illegally, of course.”

My lips twitch. “Of course.” Typical Tregam style. All you need is money in the right hands.

“We call it the Bunker. It only opens once a month, but when it does, people come for things they can’t get anyplace else. There’s even a ferry that goes between here and Tregam for that one night a month. Lots of big wigs come by then too. They leave first thing in the morning.”

Big wigs like the owner of the asylum, Nick, maybe? I wonder if she’s inadvertently telling me when she’ll be going after her next victim. “When is the next bunker night?” I ask.

“Soon, I think. This weekend maybe.”

“Sounds like a real boost to the economy,” I comment.

Paige laughs. “Oh yes. Probably earns more in that one night than an entire month’s worth of fish.” She toys with the stem of her wine glass, her smile falling away. "Did you hear about Declan, that security guard? He’s gone missing."

I don't react to the name, only meet her eye. "I thought maybe he'd gone away. Haven’t seen him in a week. Or more."

"Apparently his drinking buddies at the pub haven’t seen him—which is almost more notable than his wife not seeing him. Not for a week. She says he went to work and never came home."

I nod slowly. I can't imagine a man who treats women the way he did would be particularly missed by his wife.

"Is it common for people to disappear? So many cliffs and sheer edges." Is that how I’m going to have to deal with her? Cast her into darkness, like I’ve done to so many killers before?

I push the thought away. Information, confirmation, first. Then… then whatever comes next.

"Mm." Paige bobs her head, finishing her sip of soup. "Can't say it’s uncommon for a drunk to step off the cliff on his way home now and then. But I don't think Declan would’ve been drunk at work. There's a record of him clocking on for his night shift, but not off."

I raise an eyebrow. "He went missing from the asylum?"

"Didn't hear anything during the night, did you?" she teases.

Letting myself smile, I answer, "Afraid not. I sleep deeply once I get there." Another lie.

But she's lying to me. The sound of her moans, of her gasp in my room, sticks with me still, begging to be enjoyed before I remind myself of what they signify. Her guilt.

She’s the Wraith. I’ve proven that to myself. Therefore, I’ve proven that her interest in me can’t be genuine. She wants Needler, not me.

Not that I know who I am without him anymore.

***

Seduction wasn't typically one of the methods I used to find or catch my killers in Tregam. Like I said, I don't like fucking strangers. And if I used some level of flirting to lure someone, usually a look or an idle touch was enough.

But this isn't a typical situation, and I need her alone.

Yet as we stand in front of her door, as much as I try not to, I just need her. We’re locked together. Her arms linked around the back of my neck. She’s up on her toes, pressing her body into mine, chasing thoughts from my brain.

Paige breaks off, smiling softly, hands braced on my shoulders, though I barely feel them through my thick jacket.

Then she turns to unlock her door. "Are you sure about this?

" I ask. If she knows my true identity, she must know the risk she’s taking by inviting me in.

Akin to beckoning a vampire across the threshold.

The latch clicks, and she takes my hand in answer, pulling me inside.