Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 32
With a roll of my eyes, I turn back to Brett and Hildy at the bar. They laugh and whisper to one another at the bar while their other drinks are made—a gin and tonic for my girl and a sidecar for Hildy. I make a point to catch his eyes so he can watch my gaze fall to her ass and linger on it like a hungry demon. Then I tilt my head back to him and lick my lips. If I wasn’t already hard from just looking at her, the look in his eyes finishes the job. His eyes dart back and forth between me and her, and it feels so good to fuck with him that I don’t want to stop. I want to give him a goddamn heart attack.
Their drinks are almost done, so I make sure he’s paying close attention when I nod at Brett and then pump my tongue against the inside of my cheek three times.
That one almost gets him to his feet.
Yes, motherfucker, think about all the things I’ll do to her—the things I have done to her. Think about my name rolling off her tongue while she kneels at my feet and begs for my cock in her throat.
Whenever he even thinks about kissing her, he’ll have to wonder if he’ll be tasting me on her tongue, too.
Brett and Hildy leave the bar, their drinks in hand. He wants to kill me, but he won’t do shit. Because he needs me to say less, not more. Brett can’t know she’s caught in our crossfire and could drown in our bad blood any second. He needs her to stay afraid. And, so do I. Fear will make her impressionable and compliant.
Or so he thinks.
It can also make her reckless and wild. I’m hoping for a good combination of all of the above. And I think I’ll get it because I know her so much better than he does. I know what makes her tick and I know all the sick dreams she has in the dark, late at night, that she’ll never tell anyone else.
I lean back in my chair and shoot him one last smarmy grin.
I’m taking her from you. And, in the end, she’ll thank me for it.
My girl and all of her dark impulses belong to me. And I’ll never let him take what’s mine ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Brett
One Year Ago
He’s following me again.
But we’re not in college and we’re not in Dr. Selter’s Popular Fiction class anymore. Now, we’re sitting in Conference Room B, listening to Dave detail upcoming internal inspections and Eric recall the excitement of a potential threat that turned out to be a shed hunter who got too close to the perimeter fence. And wherever I sit, Colson is sitting right next to me.
Except now I don’t mind.
I should mind, but I’ve gotten a taste of normalcy and it’s too much to ignore. There’s nothing that I want more than to go back and not be afraid. Maybe this is my new coping mechanism—believing things can be what they once were. Maybe this will also be my downfall—dying on a hill of avoidance and denial.
It’s always the same. No matter what time of day it is, Colson brings a Twix candy bar and right after he opens it, he hands half of it to me and eats the other. Sometimes, I take my pack of cinnamon gum out of my pocket and hold it out to him. He always takes one. I still don’t know exactly what to think about him, but his presence is oddly comforting. And this ritual we’ve developed is oddly comforting.
It’s like everything is back to…normal.
He stops at my door during his rounds, I tell him about bike trails, and he tells me about new music he finds.
Today is the same in Conference Room B. Colson slides one of the Twix bars in front of me and, out of habit, I reach for it and take a bite off the end. I glance out the window as I chew, making mental notes about my schedule and daydreaming about which playlist I’ll put on for my bike ride today. Except when I refocus and let my eyes wander back across the table, my jaw tenses and I stop mid-chew.
Alex is leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, staring directly at me from across the table. He has the smoothest skin I’ve ever seen, which allows me to see each and every miniscule twitch of his facial muscles while he silently judges me. My stomach drops as he glances between me and Colson, probably working it out in his head. Finally, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk and he turns his attention back to Dave at the front of the room.
I wonder if Alex is thinking the same thing Colson’s friends thought back in college when he stopped sitting with them and chose to sit next to me instead. I wonder if Colson tells anyone anything about why he does the things he does. Probably not. But whatever Alex thinks, it’s obvious he’s incredibly entertained by it.
I take a deep breath and try to tamp down all the thoughts racing through my mind. When did I become so oblivious? This time last year, I would’ve noticed anyone who might be looking in my direction and immediately found out why. Hypervigilance was my middle name, even though it never resulted in anything more dramatic than scheduling a last-minute meeting. Now, I still feel hypervigilant, except it doesn’t seem to do a damn bit of good. I still feel like eyes are on me, whether I recognize them or not, and it feels like everyone can read my mind while I’m staggering around in the dark.
I avoid making eye contact with anyone else until the meeting is over and I can escape back to my office. But as I’m ascending the stairs, I hear footsteps behind me, slightly out of sync with my own. When I glance over my shoulder, I recognize Nate near the bottom of the staircase.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” I call back to him, slowing my pace while he catches up.
I used to see him every day, but now I only see him at meetings.
“I know,” he flashes me a smile, “you’ve been hiding out more.”
“A little bit, I guess…”
He’s not wrong. I was hiding for a while, until I decided Colson wasn’t an imminent threat. Before, I avoided the break room because I knew he would be there with Alex and Nate. But, now, I’m never there because Colson started posting up at my office during lunch.
“How are you?” Nate glances down at my hand, “Set a date yet?”
“Yeah, we just did. August 24th.”
“Long engagements are cool,” Nate nods, “my sister was engaged for two years and still barely got everything done in time.”
“Oh, um—” I bite my lip sheepishly, “I mean August 24th of this year.”
Nate’s eyes go wide with surprise, “In that case, never mind,” he grins.
“Why wait, right?” I turn the corner onto my hallway and Nate follows, “So, where do they have you now?”
“On the north side,” Nate motions ahead, “since they finished the renovations.”
“The day you got moved, I yelled hello into the hallway thinking it was you,” I’m finally able to laugh when I recall the memory, “but it was Colson, and he scared the hell out of me.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Nate groans, “now I feel bad. I should’ve warned you.”
I cast him a sideways glance, “You should feel bad.”
“Did you know Colson before he came here?” he asks.
It’s not a strange question. Wolfsson is the kind of place where everybody seems to know everybody else because they were recruited via word of mouth. It’s how Dallas and Colson ended up here...I think.
I give a nod, “I know him from college.”
“How well did you know him?”
I shrug, “I mean, we had a class together.”
That’s as much as I want to elaborate. Things are going well between us and I’d rather not rock the boat. Nate stops at my doorway, but doesn’t follow me in. When I look up from behind my desk, he’s staring across the floor like he’s deep in thought.
“What?” I ask. Nate shakes his head with a smile, but doesn’t say anything. I cast a suspicious glance at him, “Why are you being weird?”
“Not being weird, just…” he hesitates, choosing his next words carefully, “making sure you’re OK. You’re the only one over here, you know.”
I love Nate’s roundabout way of poking around for information, as if he himself hasn’t tried to do the exact same thing he’s implying Colson is doing.
“Because Colson’s batshit?” I ask nonchalantly.
Nate lets out a surprised laugh at my unexpected candor, “Batshit…” he repeats, which finally makes him get to the point, “and he seems real interested in you.”
“Does he?” I feign ignorance, but he catches my subtle smile.
“But, seriously, is he batshit?” There’s a catch in Nate’s voice, like he’s deciding whether I’m joking or not. “Like, for real?”
This is too easy.
I lean onto my elbows and crane my neck to look past Nate’s shoulder into the hallway, “Fucking. Nuts.” I murmur with a nod.
This makes Nate laugh, so I hope he decides to drop it.
“I appreciate it, Nate. But when’s the last time anything dangerous happened around here besides the time someone stole Dave’s leftover Chinese and he sent out an email blast threatening to check the cameras?”
Nate nods in admission. Like I said, the only shooting he ever does is at the range to maintain whatever certification he needs to work here. And he must not be too concerned, since he doesn’t even notice Colson approaching until he startles Nate in the doorway.
Some security guard…
The lingering stare Colson gives Nate as he brushes past him isn’t lost on me. Actually, I’m pretty sure he made it obvious on purpose. I track Colson across my office with a half-smile until he pauses at my desk and sets down a white paper coffee cup with a black plastic lid—the type that’s stocked in the break rooms. Then he continues to the corner and plants himself in the chair next to the window.
I know why he’s here. It’s Thursday, so Colson will stay for about half an hour, sometimes longer, until he goes outside to man the front gate for the rest of the afternoon.
He leans back, loops his thumbs through the side straps of his vest, tilts his head, and settles his sights on Nate.
Unbothered.
I look at the coffee cup on my desk and press my lips together, trying to hide the smile creeping across my face, “Well, thanks for letting me know,” I flash my eyes at Nate and give a sideways glance to Colson.
He’s sitting perfectly still, staring daggers at Nate.
“Yeah, uh—” Nate’s watching Colson like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off, “anytime.”
I have no idea what’s going on, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not incredibly amused by how easy it is for Colson to turn overly-flirty Nate into a ball of nerves.
Nate glances at my door and tries to focus on me, “Do you want this open or closed?”
“Closed,” Colson’s deep voice slices through the tension hanging heavy in the room, this time giving me a start.
Nate searches me for confirmation, his expression more serious.
Boys and their fragile egos…
“Closed is fine,” I say gently and then flash him a sweet smile, “Don’t be a stranger.”
But he’s distracted. My eyes are locked on Nate’s, but his dart uncomfortably between me and Colson. Something tells me he won’t heed my invitation, not that I’m sad about it.
Before he pulls the door shut, Nate jerks his head up and his demeanor suddenly changes, “Oh,” he plasters a smile across his face, “and congratulations on setting a date.”
My stomach drops and my neck muscles tense, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because the way he says it feels like it was directed at Colson rather than me. Before I can respond, Nate is gone, disappearing out the door and taking all the air in the room with him.
After a few moments of overwhelming silence, I take a breath and cast a suspicious glance over my shoulder at Colson, “What did you do?”
Colson’s face softens, which makes me relax, “What makes you think I did something?”
I slide the coffee cup toward me and gingerly lift it to my nose, inhaling its sweet aroma, “Nate hasn’t come up here for months and that’s the quickest he’s ever left my office. I usually have to get up and go somewhere for him to leave. You did something, didn’t you?”
“Well, that hardly seems like a fair assumption,” he replies.
I shoot him a side-eye, “He tried to warn me about you.”
Colson reaches back and pulls his phone out of his back pocket, “Did he?”
“Don’t worry, I told him I already know you’re batshit.”
“Aw, thanks, baby,” Colson drawls, “doing my job for me.”
I give a scoff and turn back to my computer with a chuckle, “You’re sick.”
The coffee doesn’t feel too hot, so I carefully bring it to my lips and take a small sip. When I taste it, I turn to Colson with excitement, “Do they have salted caramel lattes in the machine now?”
He looks up from his phone and grins. After hearing me repeatedly complain about the lack of variety in the fancy new coffee machine in the break room, I’m not surprised he showed up with an impromptu latte for me. And it’s good, I can actually taste the sweet and salty notes instead of the vague flavors that all seem to taste the same anyway.
Colson focuses on his phone while I respond to emails, alternating between an inordinate amount of swiping his keyboard and equally long periods of time staring at the screen. A few moments later, my desktop vibrates as a text comes through on my phone.
HILDY (12:18PM): What kind of dress are you looking for? Major sale soon. And what am I supposed to wear? I have less than 2 months!!!!
There’s a link to a bridal gown shop attached to the text. I don’t even know how to respond, so I set my phone down, feeling more stressed than I was before I picked it up. And what does Hildy mean she has less than two months? The only decision I’ve managed to make since agreeing to an August date is to use Rick and Leona’s backyard for the venue.
Their house is gorgeous and looks like a mountain cabin that belongs in the Rockies instead of central Ohio. There’s a giant A-frame window that sticks off the back of the house and a massive deck with open steps that leads to the sprawling yard. I think Leona sensed my panic when everyone started asking me about wedding plans and quietly offered up their immaculate grounds. I was more than happy to accept and took the opportunity to cross one extremely important task off the list.
Still on his phone, Colson doesn’t look at me, but, somehow, he knows I’m keeping an eye on him out of the corner of my eye.
“Sorry,” he finally locks his screen and tucks his phone back into his pocket, “Sergei—someone I used to work with.”
I crack a smile, “When you were a bear bodyguard?”
“A bear bodyguard,” he laughs, “that’s what Dallas calls it. Have you all been talking about me?”
I give a shrug, “She had a lot to say about it.”
“She has a lot to say about everything,” he retorts.
“Well, Sergei is a Russian name and you used to live in Alaska—just an educated guess.”
“You’re half right,” Colson replies, “I met him in Canada, but he just started his own company and he’s trying to get me to come back and work for him.”
“What kind of company?”
Colson doesn’t answer, just looks at me with the tiniest of smiles.
I shoot him a look, “Does it involve high-powered rifles?”
He nods, “Rifles, yes,” then he shakes his head, “bears, no.”
When I only respond with a roll of the eyes, Colson tilts his head and peers at me from his chair as I turn back to my emails, “Do you not want me to?” he finally asks.
I don’t look up as I tap the mouse and hit delete, “Not want you to do what?”
“Go back to watching for polar bears.”
“I thought you said it didn’t involve polar bears,” I point out, “and besides, what I think about it doesn’t matter.”
“Sure, it does,” he knits his brow, “if you asked me not to do it, I wouldn’t.”
He’s just fucking with you. Don’t react to him.
“I suppose that’s a relief,” I sigh. “Would you go back? For something other than polar bear protection, I mean.”
“Maybe. Alaska’s a big place. So’s Canada.” He taps the top of his leg with his thumb, “But you already know that.”
I haven’t forgotten what Bowen said about not telling Colson too much about my life. But none of it matters because there’s a lot that Colson already knew about me before he got here. And he can find out whatever he wants regardless of whether I tell him or not…
“You wouldn’t go back to Katmai?” I ask with surprise.
Colson leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, “If you went with me, I might.”
By now, I should be used to the way he talks, but I’m not. So, I do what I usually do. I brush him off, deflect, and compartmentalize. It’s what I do best.
I roll my eyes at him, “It would take something earth-shattering for me to move to Alaska.”
“You’d be closer to your sister.”
“Nice try,” I scoff, “Toronto is on the other side of the country from Alaska and Yukon.”
Colson shrugs and leans back in his chair again, “Guess I’m staying here, then.”
Since he wants to keep talking about Alaska, I take the opportunity to ask him about the only thing I’m really curious about. But as soon as I open my mouth, I hesitate, the awkward end to my conversation with Hildy still fresh in my mind.
“Dallas told me what happened in Alaska,” I swallow hard, “with your girlfriend.”
Colson blinks, not saying anything at first. For a moment, I wonder if it’s a mistake that I brought it up. But this is what I want to know, isn’t it? After what happened, I shouldn’t care about making him uncomfortable. He’s done enough of that to me.
“My girlfriend,” he draws out the word, “that would’ve made for a better story, wouldn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Paige was my friend,” he explains, “she wanted to go up to Katmai Pass to take core samples from trees for her dissertation. I said I’d go with her because I didn’t want her getting lost or running into a bear or a moose. But I didn’t account for an 80-foot pine falling in the middle of the night.”
