Page 87 of Touch of Hate
Once we’re inside the store, there’s too much to look at and decide on to do much thinking beyond the present moment. I can almost forget the other reason for this trip while picking out leggings, socks, and underwear for Scarlet. And a pair of sneakers so she won’t have to wear my spare boots crammed with extra socks so they’ll fit better.
She’s agreeable throughout, linking an arm with mine as we walk from one department to the next. Like she’s satisfied simply to be together.
We could be any other couple running errands, one of those everyday events other people take for granted.
There’s nothing every day about what comes after this.
“Ooh, so you’re going with pasta?” Scarlet nudges me playfully, and I’m almost surprised to find myself holding a box of spaghetti.
I need to get my head in the game.
“Sure.” I pull a few more boxes off the shelf, along with jars of sauce. Enough to make it so we won’t need to go out for a while. After what I’m about to do, it’ll be to our advantage to lay low.
Cereal, oatmeal, canned soup, chili, and stew. She offers no opinion on any of it, willing to go along so long as it means we’re together. I don’t need her to tell me so. I feel it. She only wants to be with me.
How would she feel if she knew what came next?
She’ll have to get used to it, eventually.
And it isn’t as if she’s never been exposed to violence. She knows the score. Yet another way in which she’s meant for me.
“Cookies?” She holds up a package of Oreos, smiling hopefully.
“Sure. So long as you’re willing to share.” Her smile turns to a frown before she grabs a second bag and adds it to the cart.
I can’t help but laugh before pulling her in for a kiss.
Though before our lips meet, I catch the eye of a flannel-wearing guy at the other end of the aisle. It’s not me he’s watching. Not when Scarlet’s ass is so much more interesting.
“What is it?” she whispers, touching a hand to my cheek to turn my face toward hers again. My gaze locks on the asshole who thinks it’s a good idea to stare at my angel.
Mine, she’s mine; look away or learn to live without eyesight, dickhead.
Finally, he notices me glaring and has the good sense to clear his throat before turning away. That’s what I thought. If he had the first idea of what I’m prepared to do to keep her by my side, he’d move a hell of a lot faster.
She looks over her shoulder, but it’s too late to catch him. “What’s wrong? You looked like you were ready to kill somebody.”
Maybe I was. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” She looks worried, though, regardless. Even my kiss doesn’t seem to soothe her.
Eventually, I’ll have to learn to balance my possessive nature and the realities of life. I can’t go around threatening to murder every man who makes the mistake of looking at her. Not that it would bother me much to do it, but it would hurt her. My precious angel. I can’t have that.
Her heart is too good and too pure to be tainted by my darkness.
What sort of man does it make me, then, dragging her along on this errand? I promised myself I wouldn’t bring her into it. That I would keep her innocent.
That was a fantasy. I have to drop the fantasies if I hope to be the man she needs. The fact is, our situation makes bringing her along with me a necessity. I already decided it’s best to have her by my side since I can’t leave her alone—and I don’t know for sure how long this visit will take.
Christian might decide to be a tough guy and hold out on me.
Besides, she did say she’s with me on this.
I believe her—but would still rather not test her this way. Not so soon.
What’s the alternative? Having River do it himself?
It would mean bringing him here, where he would no doubt show up at the cabin and make things more uncomfortable than ever. And that’s the best-case scenario.
Red flags aplenty wave in my head at the idea.