“Good deal. Here’s my first question . . . have you ever killed anyone?”
“Yes,” he answered tightly. “During an underground fighting match a fucker pulled a gun on me. I made a choice.”
“Is that the only time? Oops, wait, you can’t answer that. That’s more than one question.”
He shook his head. “No, it goes along with the same one. I did kill someone else not too long ago. I don’t know if you heard about the families who were murdered in South Carolina.”
“That was just recently. Were you the one who found the killer?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what came over me, but I fucked him up. I didn’t want him to get out alive.” Averting his gaze, I could tell it was hard for him to talk about it.
It wasn’t easy killing another human being, but some deserved to die. I might go to hell for thinking that way, but it was the truth. I nodded and he placed down two more cards—my win. “What is it you love most about North Carolina?” I asked, hoping to change the mood.
He smiled, but it was sad. “My friends. Oh, and the weather. It’s not hot as shit like it is here and it’s not cold as fuck like it is up in Maine. It’s perfect.”
“I can’t argue with that. But, on the other hand, we don’t get the humidity. Our summers are perfect.”
He laid another set of cards down and this time he won. My palms started to sweat and my heart raced; especially when he stared at me, smirking. “All right, firecracker. It’s my turn. Do you still have feelings for your ex?”
That wasn’t the question I was anticipating. Looking straight into his eyes, I said the honest truth. “Not in that way. We have a long history together, and I care about him as a friend. Any romantic feelings I had for him are long gone.”
I could tell he wanted to ask more, but had to wait. Unfortunately, he didn’t have to wait long because he won the next round. “Would you have let me fuck you if we didn’t get interrupted by your ex? And you have to be honest.”
I lowered my gaze and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I would have.”
“That’s not a straight answer,” he pointed out, his voice serious.
I looked up at him and bit my lip. “Fine. Yes, I would have slept with you.”
“Why?” he asked.
I waved my finger at him. “Can’t ask that, it’s not your turn. Deal again.” He dealt again and I won. This time I needed to think of something deep . . . and then it came to me. “When you kissed me,” I began, watching him tense, “you pulled away when I tried to touch you. I know something happened . . . what was it?”
Very slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, his gaze never wavering from mine. The pain in his eyes was evident and with each button he opened, I wanted to take back my question.
“Stop,” I begged, getting to my feet. His fingers froze right before he was about to take off his shirt, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. “Please, just stop. I never should’ve asked that question. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be for you.”
He stood and faced me. “I’m not afraid to show you my scars, firecracker. It’s the reason behind them that pains me.” He slid off his shirt and I was finally able to see the rest of his tattoos and the contours of his chest and abs. His skin was perfect and tanned, smooth. Muscles tensing, he looked into my eyes one last time before turning his body around. From the front he was flawless, but from behind there was considerable pain, the aftermath of a horrible tragedy.