Page 28

CHAPTER 27

Reed

N oah must think I’m stupid.

He’s up to something, and while I’m not entirely sure what it is, I’m not completely brain dead.

I wanted Noah to tell me he was in pain so I could give him more pain meds to make him go to sleep. It was wrong, but Ghost, that fucking devil, was shouting in my ear.

Shaking my head, I head back outside and pick up the axe I left by the back door.

I knew what he was going to do. Knew exactly what he had brewing inside his head. Noah might think he’s good at hiding his emotions, but he wears them on his sleeve. I know everything he feels. The moment he realized I wasn’t wearing my mask, I knew he was going to ask questions. Sure, a hunting trip was believable. And technically I wasn’t lying, but he thought I meant hunting deer or some other animal.

It was a woman who sliced my face up when I went after her husband. The abusive fuck deserved to die, but the girl didn’t think so.

Rolling my neck, I place a log on the stump and take a steady breath. I focus on the weight of the handle and swing backwards. With a grunt I split the log in half, both parts toppling to the side. Pushing it aside, I do the same thing with another piece of wood. Each time the log split, it was a satisfying reminder that I’m still me. I’m still here.

But with each log, it was a reminder that I didn’t need to be prepping this much. The moment Noah found what he was looking for, he was going to run. Even if the idea of telling him out loud burned like acid was dripping down my throat. He needed to find out for himself. It was easier if he did. I couldn’t look him in the eye and say the words. I couldn’t handle the terror he would have plastered to his face.

Noah’s been terrified of the zombies, but it’s different when the living is also a killer.

I couldn’t handle the shift in his expression, changing from wanting me to being scared of me. I didn’t want his judgment for what I did before they came back to chew on us.

It was safer.

It would be safer when he found out because he would run. He would be better off.

So I kept chopping. I keep my back to the cabin, my muscles burning with each swing. Even if that meant cutting down the entire forest until he found out—at least until I heard a scream. But the truth sat heavy in my stomach, boiling my insides.

This would be the reason Noah walked away, and I needed to be okay with that. It was better he found this truth out than my other one. He would never find out the other reason he needed to go. That secret I would take to my grave.

I swing the axe again, hard this time, watching the wood splinter apart in a satisfying sound.

Maybe Noah would come storming out, yelling at me, cussing me out for what I’ve done. Maybe he’d scream and tell me I needed to leave. I would too. At least in this cabin he’d be safe. I’d leave a note and when Ghost got back, I would cash in on that favor. Or maybe— just maybe —Noah wouldn’t be disgusted with me. He wouldn’t hate me.

Either way, it was better if he hated me.

It would be safer.

* * *

I chop up most of the logs that needed to be done before I headed back inside. When I don’t hear Noah screaming or rushing around to hide whatever he was doing, I decide to grab some water before going to find him.

Moving through the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and chug it. Leaning against the counter, I bow my head, hating the weight that sits heavy in my chest.

I could feel the storm without seeing Noah. I could feel the shift in the air, thicker and suffocating. Everything in me knew I should find him, tell him whatever thoughts that were running wild in his mind, that it’s okay. I would never hurt him. Any questions he had, I would answer them. Honestly, in hopes that he wouldn’t run the moment the truth slips from my lips.

But it was all useless; Noah wouldn’t understand.

I couldn’t stand here any longer. Setting down my glass, I wipe my hands on my jeans and take a deep breath that does nothing to steady me. I couldn’t stall any longer.

Leaving the kitchen, I head towards the stairs. Keeping my footsteps light and steady, I move down until I reach the second living room. The air carries a faint scent of aged wood and rich leather, mingling with the subtle bit of whiskey. Rows of expensive liquor line the glass shelves behind it. The warm glow of recessed lighting shines over the dark-stained oak and granite countertops.

I gaze over the two doors on the left-hand side; both are closed. He wouldn’t find anything in the bathroom or the garage. It’s the shift in the air when I take in the slightly ajar entrance to the gun room.

Moving over, I peer inside; rows of firearms, each carefully mounted to the wall, floor to ceiling. Pistols, rifles, shotguns—every weapon was arranged, ready to be reached for in a moment's notice. The center island holds most of Ghost’s mask and tools to clean our guns. But that’s not what has my focus.

It’s Noah.

Paperwork was scattered across the floor in front of the island. I knew we shouldn’t have kept any of that, but Viper felt it was necessary. He moves through the papers, reading everything that we’ve done. I know what he's reading, but that doesn’t stop the fear from seeping inside of me.

Having enough of him reading about it on the paper, I push the door open enough that it creaks. Noah freezes, a sharp inhale too loud in the silence. His fingers curl around the edges of the document; the dim light from above casts long shadows across the room.

Slowly he raises his head. Noah’s glossy eyes meet mine. I stand in the doorway, reminding myself to keep my posture relaxed and controlled.

“What do you have there?” I ask. Even though my throat feels like pins and needles, it comes out smooth and even. Like, I’m half tempted to lock him up, forcing him to stay put. I watch Noah work his jaw back and forth, fighting to stay in control of his emotions.

The tension between us thickened, stretched and then coiled. His fingers crumble the paper before he lets go and carefully sets it on the floor. But the damage was done, he's seen too much. He knew the truth.

“Go ahead,” I tilt my head slightly. “Ask me. Ask me what you really want to know, Noah.”

I can see him visibly swallow. He wanted to ask; he needed to, but it was like suddenly he wasn’t ready for the answers.

Noah ungracefully climbs to his feet, his gaze everywhere but at me. A small, sick part of me likes that I’m making him nervous. But he doesn’t know that I wouldn’t— couldn’t— hurt him.

“Have you ever seen Twilight?” Noah asks.

Shaking my head, I kept my face neutral, unsure where he was going with this.

“It reminds me of this. You see, there was this girl, Bella, and she liked this guy, and well, long story short, he turned out to be a vampire. But it was small, little things that made her dig into information about him.” Noah backs up until the weapon island is between us. As if that would stop me from getting to him.

“Anyways, she found who—what—he was. And you see, she didn’t care. But that’s fiction, and I mean vampires can’t be real. But then again, I thought zombies weren’t real until, well, hello, the world has been taken over by zombies all of a sudden.”

“Are you getting to the point of this?” I ask. Crossing my arms over my bare chest, I take a step further into the room.

“I always have a point, and it’s not my fault you can’t see it.” Noah snaps. His right hand curls into a fist against the granite top. The sharp rise and fall of his chest and the clench have me stopping in my tracks. He was on edge, which I expected, but he was speaking in riddles to me, and I couldn’t understand what he was trying to correlate a fictional movie to the present.

“You’re right. Then tell me, pretend I’m dumb and tell me what you’re talking about.”

Noah glares at me, his expression twisting with frustration and sheer desperation to keep control. His lips form into a thin line, his nostrils flaring as he thinks about all the words he wants to throw at me. My upper lip tips into a smirk only to die when a glimmer of betrayal crosses his eyes.

I step forward, wanting to reassure him that it’s okay when a single tear slips down his cheek.

“Don’t come near me!” Noah screams. He sucks in a sharp, furious breath and shakes his head as if he’s trying to get rid of the thoughts pouring into his head. “So fucking stupid,” he mutters.

“You’re not stupid,” I say softly.

“Yes, yes I am,” his voice breaks. His hand wipes at his face roughly, trying to scrub away the tears like it was a weakness. He fights against his natural body's defense. His body wants him to feel a certain way, but his mind is telling him it’s wrong.

Ignoring the warning bells going off in my head, I make my way over to Noah’s side. He presses his back against the island, refusing to look at me. He hates being seen like this, hates feeling weak. But the harder he fights against it, the more it spills over—ragged breaths, angry sniffles, and his eyes burn with emotions as he stares up at me.

“You know I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve seen,” I mutter. Pressing my hands on either side of his hips, I lean in. “I think since the moment I saw you, I knew you were going to be a pain in my ass.”

Noah laughs weakly, more tears seeping from his eyes.

“You’ve killed people,” he whispers.

“I have, and I’ll kill again, especially if that means protecting you.”

“But why?”

“Why do I kill people, or why would I kill to protect you?”

Noah frowns at my questions, like he wasn’t prepared for me to ask him anything back.

“It was a job. I was good at it?—”

“How can someone just be good at killing?”

“I was dealt a shitty childhood; I became the monster instead of the prey. I took the power back and became something that people feared. It was something simple that turned into much more. A job, and then the world went to shit, and while I don’t get contracts to take people out anymore, I have the resources to survive out there.”

Noah swallows, my words hanging around us like a gunshot—loud, deafening, and impossible to ignore. He blinks, trying to gather his scrambled brain so he can process my words. His breath comes in a little too fast; his muscles tense as his adrenaline creeps in. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s debating on his fight or flight instinct. Trying to see if he should be afraid of me. His life hangs on by a thread. I could kill him in a second where he stands, and it has nothing to do with the guns hanging on the walls or me snapping his neck.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I reminded him.

“How can you say that?”

“Because I never cared for those that I killed. They were a faceless thing to me.”

“Yeah, so?”

“And you’re all I see now, Noah. You consume my entire being. My existence has fused to yours, and I can’t break away. I see the way you breathe; your every moment plays on repeat to me. Your happiness swells in my chest; your pain makes my ribs hurt.” Placing my hand against his chest, I lean in further. “Your heartbeat might as well be mine. I only breathe because you do. Somewhere along the midst of being with you, I’ve forgotten where you end and I begin.”

Noah opens his mouth to say something; only he doesn’t have the words. The tears in his eyes have seemed to fade, leaving behind angry red splotches across his face. Moving my hand from his chest, I snake it over his collarbone and to the back of his neck. In a firm grip, Noah gasps, giving me perfect access, so before he can think twice about it, I lean down and press my lips against his.