Shadow shakes his head in agreement, his thumb that brushed my tear away now rubbing his bottom lip.
“Your mom is gone, when we get back you're starting ballet again.” His tone is serious and dominant.
Before I can tell him no, he interrupts me.
“You’re not getting out of this, I can see how much passion you have for this. She’s not here to weigh you down anymore. You’re doing this and you’re going to be amazing, I can’t wait to see you teach little girls how to be princesses.” He says every word with a big goofy grin.
I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face, his caring words infuse themselves into my soul.
“We leave tomorrow,” I state. I don’t want to go back to the club and the danger of Shadow's escaped mother.
“Yeah, probably going to leave early. I bet they need help setting up for the after party.” Shadow sits up on the bed, his hair sticking out in all directions. The man is more sexy when he has bed hair than ever.
“For the bike rally thing?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s usually fun. But there have been problems in the past,” he says, running his hands back and forth through his hair.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, cops are usually swarming the place, waiting for a biker to fuck up; get a chance of probable cause to dig deeper; rival clubs going at it and shit,” he says, rubbing his hands over the stubble on his cheeks. It has grown out a little over the last day or so and gives his face a darker look.
“Nothing has happened in a while, but stay close to me,“ he says, eyeing me .
“Thanks for bringing me here, Shadow. It really has been great.” It has been a big step for us, getting away, but I still need to know more. I need to know everything about Shadow.
“What you said you would tell me, are you ready?” I state, frustrated.
Shadow climbs from the bed throwing the sheets off him and onto my lap. His cute butt cheeks greet me, causing me to stare.
He grabs some boxers out of the drawer and slides them on, blocking his cute buttocks from my view.
I look up and see him glaring at me, trapping me with his intense stare.
He breaks his glare and looks off toward the beach.
“I kill people,” he mutters.
I know that. I saw how he killed Ricky without a second thought. He told me he killed people, was that what he was so afraid to tell me.
“Yeah, I know that,” I respond.
“No, I mean I kill people for a living,” he replies, his tone alarming.
My heart stops beating briefly. “What?” I gasp, in dismay.
“What, not the prince charming story you wanted to hear? You wanted to know this shit, so here you are. I kill people for money!” he shouts at me, angry.
“Like a hit man?” I ask, my voice timid.
“I guess you can call me that,” he says, sitting on the bed. His elbows rest on his knees as he rubs his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip.
“Why?” I ask.
He turns and looks at me. He seems to be gathering his thoughts.
“Growing up the way I did, I had to learn how to ignore things to live. I eventually became numb, just a shell of a person.” He pauses, staring at me before continuing.
“When I joined the MC, Bobby and I were instructed to kill a potential witness, a rat. Bobby wussed out, so I did it. When I killed that person was when I realized how numb I had become over the years. Suddenly, I felt alive, raw and powerful for the first time, finally in control of something.
“Bobby and I were sent to take out a lot of threats after that. When I would kill, for a brief second, I would feel something other than the numbness that had become my tomb. The recoil brought back a high that no drug or pussy could offer. It became an addiction.” His vivid blue eyes go gray. “I was good at it and I enjoyed it.”
Shadow pauses, looking at me for something, but I am dumbstruck with the information he is giving me. He enjoys killing people; his dark shadow is something I can never compare myself to.
“Word got out how good I was and I did jobs for local clubs. They said I was the kid that lives within his Shadow, no soul, no remorse. Eventually, word got out further and I did side jobs for civilians.” He looks at me, his eyes penetrating down to my soul.
I don't know what to say; he is a hit man. I didn’t think for a million years that the man I love would enjoy killing people and get paid to do it. That it would be the only way he could escape his demons. If I feel deep down, I feel sorry for him. I feel like I could stab Cassie a million times for what she did to him, what she has made him.
“Say something,” he says, snapping me from my thoughts.
“That’s how you’re so rich?” I ask, in a trance.
“What? I’m no millionaire. I get paid; I get paid well. I don’t use much of it, so it has piled up over the years,” he says, standing.