Page 30 of Omega
Did I want to communicate any of this to Layla?
I wasn’t so sure. I shrugged. “I just mean that Harris is the kind of man who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. I’d be dead if not for him, and Roth would still be a prisoner on that island.”
“You won’t ever tell me what really happened, will you?” Layla asked.
I shook my head. “No. Some stories are best left untold. You said you grew up rough, but…the things I saw, the things I did…” I had to choke back a lump in my throat. “It wasn’t pretty. I wouldn’t wish any of it on anyone. I’d do it all again to save Valentine, mind you, but…shit got ugly, Layla.”
“And Harris?”
I shrugged. “Harris was my rock through it all. Kept me sane, kept me going. He never wavered, and never hesitated.” I let out a breath. “I don’t know much about him. I don’t think anyone does. Just…if you decide to see where things go with him, just be careful, okay?”
She must have heard something in my voice, something that spoke louder than my actual words. “I don’t know what’s going on between us. He’s not easy to get to know, you know? Getting him to say more than a single sentence at a time is like having a root canal without Novocaine. I’m intrigued, I guess you could say, ’cause he’s something totally different than what I usually go for. But I’m not gonna chase him out of his shell. He’s gotta come out to meet me, since I’ve got a shell of my own.”
“He’s different with you, from what I’ve seen. He’s usually all business, buttoned up, silent, Mr. Stoneface, you know? And with you, he’s…human.”
“I’m done talking about this,” Layla said, sweeping past me and into the changing room. “It’s not going anywhere, and besides, you’re getting married, and then I’m going back to Detroit. So for now, let’s just focus on making you Mrs. Kyrie Roth.”
I grinned. “I like the sound of that. Kyrie Roth.”
“It does sound good,” Layla said from the other side of the door. “I still can’t quite believe you’re actually getting married. I never thought either of us would, to be honest. I was all set to be old maids together with you, and then you had to go and fuck up all my plans.”
“Oh, come on, Layla.”
“What? Until you met Roth you didn’t exactly have the most sterling taste in men, either.”
“My taste in men was fine. I just didn’t have time for anything serious.”
“Remember Steven? That guy creeped me the fuck out.”
I’d never told Layla about some of the things Roth had revealed to me, when we first met. I’d dated a man named Steven who, it turned out, had been into some very unhealthy sexual practices. Such as torture, and, Roth suspected, murder. I shivered at the thought of what Roth’s vigilante stalking of me had saved me from.
“That was an exception,” I said, my voice flat.
Layla emerged from the changing room, dressed once more in a tight orange tank top and khaki shorts that just barely covered her booty. She gave me a quizzical look. “What aren’t you saying?”
I sighed, took the dress I’d picked out for Layla, brought it to the register, and paid for it. Harris was standing just outside the door of the store, leaning back against the wall, one heel hooked over a shin, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He pushed away from the wall and fell into step behind us.
I glanced at him. “Harris knows what I’m not saying.”
Harris remained expressionless. “I make it a point to not eavesdrop on private conversations,” he said.
“Layla was calling into question my taste in men, before I met Roth. Specifically, she mentioned Steven.”
Harris was silent for a long moment before responding. “I take it you didn’t tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Layla demanded.
“Harris?” I prompted.
“This is your story to tell, Ms. St. Claire,” Harris said, and I knew I wouldn’t get anything else out of him.
I sighed, and thought about where to start. “Okay, so I told you about Roth’s involvement with my dad’s business, and that whole mess. Well, after he—after Dad died, Roth started keeping an eye on me. From…afar, you could say. Not in a creepy-stalker sort of way, just more in a…making sure I was okay sort of way.”
“He was watching you, you mean?” Layla said, glancing at Harris. “Meaning, he had Harry watching you?”
Harris didn’t correct Layla’s misuse of his name, which was pretty shocking. “Correct.”
“And what does this have to do with that creepy fucker, Steven?”