He took in a deep inhale of the joint, and when he blew it out, he said, “It’s for my glaucoma.”
My brows arched, and as he took another hit, I leaned forward and softened my tone. “You have glaucoma?”
He choked on his laugh, smoke billowing out of his mouth with every cough, and mortification turned me hot.
Oh my God. I was an idiot.
Twitch’s rough laughter went on and on, and the longer it went, a smile formed on my lips, and soon after, I was chuckling at my own stupidity. “Oh, shut up. I’m tired.”
As his laughter subsided, he muttered, “Fuck, I missed you.”
“You didn’t have to miss me.” I couldn’t help myself. I was hurting. “You could’ve just stayed.”
“You think if that was an option, I wouldn’t have been here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
When I gazed over at him, he caught my eye a moment, before he uttered roughly, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
The intensity of his gaze pierced me. “Like you hate me.”
Didn’t I?
Why didn’t I?
I lowered my hurt stare and sighed. It was time. “Let’s talk.”
Twitch took another hit of the joint before offering it to me. I hesitated, and he uttered, “It helps me sleep.”
I shook my head, but I wanted it so badly, somehow needing it to cope with the conversation ahead. I balled my hands into fists and refused politely. “I don’t do that anymore.” Memories of Twitch putting his lips to mine and lightly blowing the pungent smoke into my mouth as I inhaled the mix of drugs and the man himself had me heady.
My chest ached with the need to relive that. But I stood firm, denying that need.
“Why did you do it?” I spoke into the silent night.
He didn’t speak for a long while, and I wondered if he actually would. But then he started, and although it may not have been the explanation I wanted, it was an explanation nonetheless. “I never planned on things going the way they did. Never planned on wanting you the way I do, needing you the way I do. And once you were a drug coursing through my veins, I knew I’d do anything for you. Even disappear, if that’s what it took.”
My silence was an invitation to keep going, and he did. “I made some poor decisions in my time as king. Made enemies and didn’t care because I never planned to live past forty.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But that changed, and I knew if I claimed you openly, I’d be putting a target on your head.” He looked at me. “I need you to know I never intended to die on you, but when you sprung it on me that you were pregnant and that asshole shot me, it was an opportunity I couldn’t waste.”
I was so confused. “I don’t understand. What opportunity?”
“Spent a lot of time looking for people, clearing my streets of threats.” He shot me a look. “Purging the badness and getting myself to a position where coming back would mean nothing touched my boy.”
Oh my God. That sounded like he was telling me that he’d spent the last five years tracking people down and... murdering them. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You and I are now an open book.” His eyes held me firmly. “I hope you can handle that, baby, because some of the shit I’m going to tell you is fucked, even for me.”
My heart jolted. Was I ready for that? I didn’t know.
“Turned myself into the cops.”
“What?” I asked, completely stunned.
He snuffled out a laugh. “I know. Me, working with the authorities. What the fuck, right? Worked with the FBI a while, and if I delivered what I promised, I earned complete immunity and got to come back to you. That was the deal.” He paused. “I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did. I was arrogant, thinking I’d wrap shit up within a year.” He scoffed. “The first year was the hardest. I got nowhere fast. No leads, no resources. The only two people who knew I was alive were the two people who helped me become dead. Slept on the street, stole what I needed, and lived off garbage at one point. Sometimes I’d throw a shit-fit and give up, plan on staying dead. But...” He closed his eyes then peered at me tiredly. “I’m selfish, baby. Needed to be with my son. Needed to come home to you.”
He leaned back on the step, resting on his elbows, looking out into the yard. “No one was taking your crown. Not on my watch. I forged you a throne, angel, and I made it from the bloody, mutilated corpses of every fucker who got in my way, leave you sitting pretty in a pool of blood, wearing a crown of thorns.” He smirked, then his voice filled with reverence. “My queen.”
My stomach clenched. That should not have lit a fire inside me. Jesus Christ, I was a fucking freak.
“No one was getting to you, to my boy. Use my body as a shield. Cut me open. Bleed me dry.” He shook his head slowly. “Not happening.”
I had so many questions. I don’t know why I chose the one I did. “What happened to your tattoo?”
I didn’t need to specify. The iconic 13 I’d come to love no longer graced the apple of his cheek. In its place was a scar. The scar I’d witnessed him receiving at eight years old when we were children, brought together for one short night, destined to meet again as lovers, and although I didn’t know it at the time, I needed him.
He was a fire so hot his flame turned blue. And I wanted to be burned over and over again, smiling through the pain and begging for more.
I was clearly a masochist, but sometimes you needed to bleed to be reminded that you were still alive. And Twitch made me bleed, oozing red warmth until my heart stopped, and every time he killed me, I was revived with a single kiss.
His love was deadly, and I didn’t want the antidote.
Twitch peered at me a long moment. “A little give, a little take. You know how it works, baby. I gave a little, so now it’s your turn. You give me what I want, and I’ll answer your questions.”
Immediately weary, I let out a hushed, “What do you want?”
His voice rough, he named it. “I want you to touch me.”
When I rolled my eyes and moved to stand, his warm hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back down. “Not like that. I mean anywhere. Anywhere you want. Just—” His voice was low, coarse. “—touch me, baby.”
It sounded so innocent, but I knew Twitch, and nothing about him was innocent. To believe he were capable of anything so pure was foolish. But I wanted to touch him.
I inwardly sighed. I loathed that I lived for affection. Something as basic as a simple touch was so important to me. It could convey messages untold, and right now, the need Twitch wore on his fatigued face told me he needed it.
Shuffling over, he waited patiently as I lifted my right hand and brought it to his face, gently cupping his cheek. The moment my fingers came into contact with his warm skin, his eyes closed of their own accord and I watched him take in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, savoring my touch.
The affect I had on him filled me with sudden power, and I reveled in his relaxed state.
Placing my other hand to his neck, I scraped my fingernails over the neatly trimmed scruff, celebrating the way his face wore a look of pure rapture, and spoke quietly, “Tell me.”
He made a sound low in his throat. “It was too obvious a marker. The FBI made me laser it off.” He groaned quietly as my hand slid down to his shoulder, lightly kneading the knot I found, and he spoke through an exhale, “Thought about you every second, every day.”
I wanted to climb into his lap and beg for a single kiss. “Where do we go from here?” Then, even more quietly, “How do we move on?”
His hooded gaze landed on me, and his response was as soft as his whiskey voice would allow. “Very fuckin’ slowly.”
I peered into those soft brown eyes and ran my fingers gently down his jawline. My voice was little over a whisper. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.”
His reply was pure Twitch. “Never asked for it, angel.”
Arrogant ass.