Page 10 of Touch of Hate

Move, dammit. Finish this.

I do move—not in Q’s direction, however. I take the stairs up to the next floor and head straight for the elevator, my heart pounding hard enough to make me sick by the time I jam my finger against the button.

What if he saw me?

What if someone finds out?

Why didn’t I have the balls to finish the job?

I can’t answer the third question, and it doesn’t matter as much as the first two, anyway. Soon everyone will know the truth. The faster I get out of here, the less likely I’ll be caught.

I’m not taking that chance.

A minute later, I’m pulling a suitcase from my closet and throwing it on the bed before grabbing items: clothes, my toothbrush, my laptop.

Thoughts run rampant. It shouldn’t take long for someone to find him. Q is strong; he most likely got up and hobbled his way back to his room. I’m not sure if he saw me, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll be far away from here by the time anyone starts putting the pieces together.

With that in mind, I pull out my phone to request a helicopter. It isn’t unusual for me to come and go at random times, meaning there shouldn’t be a question of why I’m flying out with a bag in hand. This time, there will be no return flight.

I have no idea where I’ll go. I only know I can’t stay here. The traitor who’ll soon have a price on his head. The would-be murderer.

Why, of all times, does Scarlet’s face now appear before me? A stupid question—I tried to kill her brother, which would make two siblings she’s lost. Besides Q, who else would I think about now? Leaving Corium is as good as admitting my guilt, which means not only cutting all ties with Q but with his family. His sister.

The invisible knife in my gut sinks deeper.

Then it turns, sending burning pain radiating outward.

It’s enough to slow my packing as I consider what it will do to her when she finds out what I attempted. She’s more than a temptation put on earth to plague me. She’s young and stubborn enough to ignore anything she doesn’t feel like believing.

Such as the absolute futility of caring about me. It’s a waste of time. Yet she insists on doing so anyway, when she isn’t driving me out of my skull with the need to touch, taste…claim. Every kiss and caress was a mistake. At the time, I imagined the greatest danger was being discovered by her brother, who’d waste no time killing me. Now, I know I made her care more for me with every forbidden encounter.

I could have stopped things in their tracks before we went too far. At least, that’s what I have to tell myself. Memory has a way of softening things, of making me believe all of this could’ve gone differently. That I could’ve been strong. Refused her. Pretended she didn’t exist.

Reality was another story.

“Where’s Scarlet?”

This time around, it’s Xander who notices his daughter’s absence from the dinner table. She’s been gone for nearly ten minutes, which I know since I’ve checked the time more than once when she didn’t come straight back.

She would have to go and do this, wouldn’t she? It’s bad enough I’m already overly aware of her. Ever since that night with the Grimaldi family, there’s been no getting her out of my head. She’s a temptation I can’t shake.

A danger I should know better than to entertain, even when I’m alone, even when she is miles away, and there’s no possibility of us running into each other.

Even then, I shouldn’t think about her as much as I do or the way that I do. Because now, it’s become a habit, and the line between fantasy and reality blurs further all the time.

Now, when she leaves the dinner table with no explanation, I’m far too aware of her. There was a time—not so long ago—when I wouldn’t give it a moment’s thought, too busy eating and busting Q’s balls, something Luna and Scarlet love to tag team on.

Instead, every ounce of my awareness is trained on her. I take a bite of beef, but it might as well be sawdust. Where did she go? Why hasn’t she come back?

I meet Xander’s inquisitive gaze, shrugging.

“I can take a look and make sure she’s okay.”

He nods, satisfied, before returning to his conversation with my father. A quick glance around the table confirms no one thinks anything strange is going on. Why would they? I haven’t done anything wrong. Yet.

I hate the presence of that word ringing out in my head as I excuse myself from the table and begin my hunt.

Nothing inappropriate has taken place between us—yet.