Page 32

CHAPTER 31

Noah

W hen I was a child, my mother read to me once. I’m not sure why she wanted to, it was like a flip of a switch. I was ignored, and then suddenly one evening when I was seven, she wanted to read to me. Dad was gone on some business trip, and this one time, she decided to stay back home with me. I’m not entirely sure why. She made me dinner instead of having one of the nannies do it. She then helped me get ready for bed, right before reading me ‘Goodnight Moon’. It was magical.

Only it died the next day when Dad came home and I was back to being a forgotten child they didn’t want. I threw every mug in the house, breaking nearly every glass, but nothing made her read to me again.

They never said a word, but I knew they were disappointed in having a child like me.

It was like this itch inside me; it was there when I was a child. The need to destroy something because I could only hurt myself so much.

And that itch sat heavy against my chest. Even now, Reed lies next to me, one arm over his eyes as he takes shallow breaths.

I know he’s asleep, and while a part of me wants to stay here and watch him. Bathe in his presence? That itch won’t let me.

I sit up, holding my breath as I swing my legs over and stand. The constant ache in my shoulder remains as I move off the bed and towards the bedroom door. Twisting the handle, I peer over my shoulder when the door creaks open. When Reed doesn’t move, I quietly step out and close the door behind me. I held my breath, waiting for any movement that tells me he woke up. But when it never comes, I blow raspberries. Glancing over at the open window at the back of the house, the sun settles just above the mountain, slowly plunging the cabin into darkness.

When I did my snooping the last time, I never got to the kitchen. I figured he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave cliff notes just hanging around. Granted, when I finally got downstairs, it only took me two seconds to find the right door. I mean, who just leaves a gunroom door opened? It was like he wanted me to find it. Not that I blame him. How do you bring up being a murderer to someone?

If it were me, I have no idea what I would do. It’s not like it’s easy to just slip off the tongue. ‘Hi, I’m an ex-hitman, maybe still am. I used to kill people, but don’t worry, I don’t plan on killing you’.

I’d probably freak out more if he told me. But that also begs the question, why won’t he kill me?

Not that I’m asking him to, as I'd very much like to live. But what makes me so different? I can’t be that special. I’m annoying, talk too much, and random facts live rent-free in my head.

Shaking my head, I make my way into the rustic kitchen. When I first saw this place, I thought I was dreaming. I’m not one that’s usually surprised by luxury things, especially not houses or cabins. But this place was different. It had vaulted ceilings, making the place feel inviting and warm. It wasn’t like my parents house. Theirs was cold and hateful.

I open one of the dark wood cabinets, finding cans of different vegetables. Hmm, it seems like someone was into canning. One of my nannies had a thing for living off what we have. She was big into canning, growing her own fruit and vegetables. But it only makes me wonder who in this household did it. I can’t imagine Reed doing it, and from that picture I doubt the man in the mask would.

Moving along, I open nearly every cabinet until I find the mugs. I pull one down before grabbing one of the tea bags and placing it under the faucet.

“When did you get up?”

“AHH!” I scream. Jumping up, my heart pounds against my chest as I take Reed in. Bare-chested, he stands before me with his arms crossed. “You scared me.”

“You need to learn to listen for every sudden movement.”

Rolling my eyes, I place the mug into the microwave.

“How do you have power?” I ask.

“Generator and solar panels.”

“Hmm.” I hum, nodding my head.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Reed steps forward, leaning his elbows against the island. How can one be so attractive? The way the scar somehow makes him hotter. It adds to the roughness about him. The way his lips tip up when he tries to hide his smile. It’s distracting and maddening but so ungodly beautiful.

“Do I need to tie you up to make you answer my question?” Reed's voice breaks into my daydream.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” I mutter as the microwave beeps. “But, no, uh, I just woke up. You were still sleeping, and I didn’t want to disrupt you.”

Pulling the mug out, I’m too quick to take a drink, burning the inside of my mouth. My eyes slam shut as I blow out a breath.

“That’s what happens when you warm something up.”

“No need to be sarcastic.”

Reed rolls his eyes and stands up. I watch him move further into the kitchen, opening cabinets and starting to pull things out. Sipping on my tea, I slide into one of the island chairs.

“Well now that you’re awake, I think I have some questions,” I announce, taking another large drink.

Reed peers over his shoulder at me, brow raised. He definitely doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to answer any questions I have.

“Look, if you plan for me to keep sucking your dick or having your fingers in my ass, I really think we need to set some ground rules.” I blurt out.

“Ground rules?” Reed questions.

“Yes, like answering the million questions I have. If you expect there to be some kind of trust between us. I mean you, well, you kind of declare some feelings for me, and while I might also have some for you, I think we need to establish some things.”

Reed’s frown deepens. Sometimes I wish instead of the world going to shit with dead people walking that some of us got superpowers. Like right now, I would give anything to know what he’s thinking. Is he thinking I’m completely crazy for even suggesting we establish some boundaries? Or is his mind more focused on finding food?

It’s clear he’s thinking about food because he has yet to utter a word to me. Reed just moves around the kitchen, pulling out red pasta sauce and noodles. Which doesn’t bother me, not all the way. I am hungry, but I also want answers.

“Reed!” I snap, getting his attention.

“What?”

Stretching my fingers out on the island, I take a calm breath. “Let’s start off with the easy ones. Why did you become a murderer?”

Reed coughs, choking on his own spit, I assume. His eyes widen as he glances over at me, probably to see if I was joking.

I’m not.

“What? It’s an easy question.” I shrug, taking a sip of my tea.

“I… honestly, I’m not sure.” He mumbles. I waited until he was done pouring water into the pot for my next question.

“Fine, we’ll come back to that one. How about running water? How do you have it?”

When the world is ending, most people don’t think about the little things. Like running water, electricity, or their food. Most of the time it’s, what am I going to do? How will I text my friends, or what about social media? Don’t get me wrong; I had the same thoughts.

The things I would give to be able to text Rue or Mallory in our group chat. I just want to make sure they’re alive.

“I told you, we have solar panels. It’s for everything, the power and the water.”

I nod along, a little glad we won’t be running out of water anytime soon.

“Okay, and now back to square one, how did you become a murderer?”

Reed keeps his back to me as he pours some canned pasta sauce into the pan. He reaches up and starts digging around for spices.

“My piece-of-shit father beat my mother half to death,” he finally announces. I hold my breath, not expecting that to be his answer. I thought maybe he fell into the wrong crowd. Or shit, maybe he’s just pure evil. “He made me sit there and watch when I was eight. After that we were on the run from the police most of the time. We moved around, and when the schools I went to started asking too many questions, he decided it was time to pick up and leave.”

Each word he speaks sinks into my chest like a stone. It’s heavy and painful. My once slow and steady heartbeat is now uneven, too fast and then too slow as he speaks.

“Anyways, I was seventeen when he finally hit me for the last time. After that things were rough. I was running from the law, one that didn’t understand I was just a kid who had a shitty childhood. They would see that I was a killer.”

My throat is tight, my hands restless as he talks. Who would’ve thought the man standing here today is more like a gentle giant than a killer? Sure he's messed up things, but haven’t we all?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Reed swings around, something crossing his face that I can’t place. “I don’t need your pity.”

“I-it, Reed…” I stood up and made my way towards him. Reed eyes me the entire time, his muscles tense. Sliding my arms around his waist once more, I press my cheek against his chest. “It’s not pity I’m feeling. I just—you must miss your mom.”

Reed slowly relaxes, his hand resting against my bare back.

“She was my best friend,” he whispers.

“I bet she was lovely.”

“She was.” His voice is weak with emotion. “She would’ve loved you.”

A chuckle against him. “I doubt that. I talk too much, I’m a brat and I?—”

Suddenly Reed is cupping my cheeks, brushing his thumb against my bottom lip.

“Don’t ever doubt yourself, love; you’re stronger than you think.”

I smile, fighting against the urge to argue with him. If only he knew the strong one here was him.