Sinful Red Read online

  “Thank you for walking me home,” she says as her house comes to view.

  “I’m worried,” I say, keeping my arm around her shoulder.

  My grip is tight, but I remind myself that she is fragile, and I need to mind my own strength. A lot of times I don’t remember my own power and have crushed things on accident. I can’t even begin to imagine the guilt I would feel if I see fear in her eyes.

  She’ll see me as a monster.

  “Would you like to stay the night?” she asks, and she leaves it at that.

  I can see the worry in her eyes as she stands on her porch, the umbrella pointed to the ground with droplets of water changing the wash of light color to darker brown on the wood.

  She’s asking me to stay the night to protect her, to not walk in the dark and rain, and to understand her a bit better in the comfort of her own home.

  Most of all, as a thank you for caring about her wellbeing.

  “Yes, I want to stay.”

  She smiles, beautifully and gently.

  My heart sings a song that I’m not familiar with, but I like it because it makes me warm despite the bitter cold from the freezing rain.

  Nora turns to take out her keys and open the door with her back to me; the trust in me to not attack her when she is presenting a vulnerable side to me is heartbreaking.

  She wouldn’t do this if she knew what I had done in the past and why I’m on the run.

  “Come in,” she says as her smell fills my nose at the openness that leads me to her home.

  I walk inside and close the door behind me.

  Inviting a ravenous beast inside her sweet home should never be an idea that crosses her mind, but sweet Nora is too kind and too pure to let my poor broken soul to walk back out into the rain.

  Chapter Three

  Nora

  The man sleeps like the dead.

  He doesn’t move one bit, and sometimes I wonder if he’s breathing too, but I see his chest rising under the blanket that I threw over him because the raging thunderstorm brought the temperature down during the middle of the night.

  It’s still raining, and the forecast tells me that it wouldn’t stop until at least the evening. It seems that it’s going to be an unproductive day, but it’s not something I can’t deal with. Planning takes time and effort; some days are just impossible because of things that aren’t controllable by mankind.

  I had had power-naps throughout the night. Having Eric in the same vicinity raises the caution in me since my job requires me to be vigilant. I like him, and I adore his protectiveness, but I have gone through years of distrust with everything so it has become a habit that will follow me for the rest of my life.

  I gave Eric the foam mattress that is still in the packaging from the previous owners. They must have left it on accident because it’s in nice condition.

  He slept with the barest movements; I kept my eyes on him for the whole night to see if there is something that I need to figure out. I may be fond of him, but that doesn’t mean I trust him in a sense that will put me in danger.

  I had done research on him, but I am not going to tell him anything. What he went through and what he’s fighting is none of my concerns; he needs to face it himself because I am not the one to step into another’s business.

  I learned that lesson when I was younger. I almost got killed for it because my heart was too kind to not jump in to help.

  I will not see Eric again after this job, and I have known that the moment I became fond of him. Maybe he will be sad about my departure, but he and I are not in the same world. Mine happens to have dangers that street danger doesn’t live up to; there are matters that need finesse rather than fists of violence.

  The steam from the cup of coffee weaves up and covers Eric’s sleeping form. The loud thunder cracks across the dark sky. The owner of the diner had called that he would not be opening the diner today. The rain is too harsh for me and the other waitress to come in while the owner would also rather not have an accident happening to him.

  The bitterness of the coffee hits my tongue, waking up the nerves of my brain as I survey the trees in the backyard. This town is close to the mountains and the prison that I’m targeting. I see the tip of the building over the rocking trees as the wind blows to the left.

  There are barbed wires and guard tower and empty space at the top for any helicopter to drop in.

  Those aren’t white-collar criminals; the men in there are violent felons who have brutality in their records. It’s quite odd that the people released from there are the ones that keep to themselves in this town, minding their own business and living the quiet life after getting out from the cells.

  It’s the townspeople that are making the loudest noise. They don’t think it’s fair that their families are put in danger by exposing children to ex-cons. I understand, but I don’t understand; I can see where the townspeople are coming from, but I am a loner with no family or loved ones to worry about.

  A shuffle of sheets brings my eyes back to the man bundled in the blankets. His ruffled hair and unfocused eyes don’t lessen the handsomeness of his face. I think my heart is thumping a tempo too quick for this calm atmosphere, but I’ll let it go for now since it’s not every day it gets the chance to be a regular heart.

  “Good morning,” I greet him gently as I remain seated at the kitchen table.

  He blinks a couple of times, getting up from the floor mattress while furrowing his brows. “When did you wake up?”

  I never slept, but he doesn’t need to know that I was being a freak and watched him sleep. “Not long ago.”

  I put my coffee mug down and smile at his towering body, “Why don’t you wash up, and I will make you breakfast?”

  He nods with a small murmur of gratitude as he goes to the bathroom upstairs since the bathroom on the first floor has junk and a broken flush tank. I never bothered to use it; I don’t see a reason to when this is a temporary home to get the work done.

  At least the stove works, and I wouldn’t have to explain to him how I’m surviving without proper utilities for three months. Well, I wouldn’t be the first one to live off of instant food. It’s a common theme amongst young people these days since everything is expensive and unnecessarily dyed in colors.

  Whatever works for the economy, I think as I drop two pieces of bread on the frying pan with a slice of butter on the bottom to make it fragrant and crunchy.

  The egg I drop to the side forms a circle while the yellow yolk is slightly cooked without being in its solid form. I place them all on a plastic plate with plastic utensils. Everything in the house is disposable, and I don’t have time to wash dishes of all things.

  I pull a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator. The pipes in the sink are disgustingly brown and haven’t been cleaned in years. There is a limit of things that work in this place, but it’s a place that works for now.

  Placing the plate on the kitchen table just in time for Eric to come down from the bathroom; I couldn’t do much about his clothes since I didn’t have anything that would fit him in the house, but I did wash his shirt because it was wet from the rain and I took his pants too to wash them.

  He was going to sleep anyway, so there’s no point of having them on, and a part of me enjoys it too much because his frame is a sight to behold.

  Wide with muscles like a beast and the rippling skin coils with a body stamped with tattoos that tell stories, but the thing that catches my attention the most is the outline of his cock that leaves nothing to the imagination yet brings the creative side out of me.

  “You’re not eating?” he inquires as he sits on the wooden chair.

  I bring my coffee closer, “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” I raise my cup, and it’s the only thing that is mine in this rundown house.

  This and some other unspeakable things that are hidden as Eric doesn’t need to know. The less he knows, the better it is for him.

  “No, than
k you,” he says with a chug of his water bottle.

  I smile at the rim of the cup and flick my tongue to taste the bittersweet flavor, “There is no need to be so polite, Eric.”

  “I could say the same thing to you, Nora,” he grunts while biting into his toast.

  A breath of air burst from my lungs and up to my lips, “I’m sorry, old habits die hard.”

  “Old habits?” Eric raises an eyebrow.

  It is an old habit because I have taught myself to be the most formal and polite person that matches the circumstances; some require more formality than others, and it had been years since I have spoken in ways that aren’t from training.

  I don’t recall how I spoke when I was younger, let alone years before when I was too young to have wicked rules installed in my head by my mentor.

  She’s gone now, and I feel nothing towards that woman who had stolen away my childhood and any form of happiness.

  “When I was a child, I wanted to be British, but I could never get the accent right,” I shrug with a smile and Eric buys it without another ounce of doubt.

  It’s not good for him. He shouldn’t trust me in any circumstances. I am a bad person. I don’t deserve that unadulterated trust that he has in me while knowing that he thinks himself as a bad person for running from his past.

  He has his demons, and I’m a sucker for strays. I want to get rid of the problem for him so he never has to carry that burden that one day his past will catch up.

  Also, I can’t because he would know that I went behind his back to gather information without coming to him first.

  “What did you do as a child?” I ask offhandedly, peering through the rim of the cup to gauge his reaction.

  A cloud of darkness flashes in his eyes as he remains unfocused, deep in his thoughts and the curl of his brows is an indication of the slippery slope that he is going down on.

  “Just children stuff,” he said vaguely, but I don’t push him more than I need to.

  He is a big man. He has the ability to protect himself with the size of his hands, but he is fragile in the mind when it comes to his past, and the broken pieces of his life are left on the ground as he tries to forget it the best he can.

  He needs help, and I don’t think I’m the best person to do so. I have too many sins in me to be that foundation he needs to build his life back up, but I would love to if I wasn’t Nora.

  Nora is not real. She is a figment of a life that is made up with an expiration date that is at most another month.

  “Where are you from?” I ask, changing the subject before it gets too moody.

  The rain is doing enough of that. I want to get to know him more from the things he tells me. This attraction to him is overwhelming that I’m risking a lot to getting to know him while giving a piece of myself to him that I thought didn’t exist anymore.

  My heart had been ripped out and tainted by the blood on my hands. My soul is beyond salvaging, and I have long stopped trying to fix what’s shattered to dust.

  However, I can help Eric.

  I want to help him, and I will help him even if my mind is telling me to leave him alone. My heart and mind are finally disagreeing again; it’s been a while since it’s happened, and I welcome the change of heart.

  “Chicago,” Eric grunts as he finishes his breakfast, a flash of lightning covers half of his face as thunder follows closely.

  “Oh,” I lean my elbows on the table and widen my eyes in interest, “What’s it like there?”

  “It’s okay,” he reluctantly says, “Messy in some places, but it’s fine overall.”

  “Hmm,” I smile, elevating the curl of his eyebrow when I reach other to rub his calloused hand.

  His knuckles are scarred, but it gives him character and another map of a story that I want to hear. His body is littered with scars and wounds that have healed with a paler color. The tattoos can only cover up so many of the bad memories before some of them seep through the black ink.

  “I’m from Netherland. My parents immigrated to the United States when I was young. I don’t remember much about it, but I did like it there.”

  It’s part of the cover story for my identity. It’s not too farfetched to not be realistic and not too close for others to pick up any discrepancies if there are since this identity is only used as a cover for me to live in this apartment.

  I hadn’t counted on interacting with the locals this much, but this town is very gossipy, and they talk to each other about everything. People will soon realize that I am not who I am if I don’t put some details out. I would prefer the deeper background probing from people to stop.

  It’s obnoxious to answer all their curious questions even three months into this apartment. It’s also tiring to repeat the answers that I have already made up and told many times.

  The most common question was what Netherland was like.

  I kept it basic and told them that it was similar to any big city where I was from, and it was clean. People had their cliques just like the United States, so there wasn’t much of a difference to get more inquisitive about.

  “I have wanted to travel to Chicago,” I said with a smile spreading on my cheeks as I giggle, “The Cloud Gate is my goal. I heard it’s huge!”

  My arms widen to mimic the measurements of the mirrored sculpture. I’m not interested in the structure, but it’s something to put in the cover story to make everything more believable.

  When I’m not working, I like to stay on the down low to prevent more cameras from picking me up. The fewer people I come across, the better it is for me to relax without having to focus on every noise coming through the walls of my temporary home.

  He smiles and my breath hitches. I always find a halo of kindness when he smiles. He doesn’t look like a man with too much on his shoulders, doesn’t look like he is about to give up and drop dead when life throws him another hurdle when he hadn’t recovered from the previous one.

  I know things about him that he doesn’t want me to know, and it’s an invasion of his privacy that needed to happen for me to deem him not a threat to my assignment.

  Eric has a soft spot in my heart, but my job comes first if I want to keep him out of the wicked side of my world when he is still trying to get out of his.

  I will never be the right thing for him; I can only bring him trouble; however, I can’t shut off the part of my heart that yearns for him and wants to fix that gaping hole in his heart.

  From a distance and cutting through the pouring rain there is the faint loop of sirens that comes closer in a Doppler effect. It’s coming closer and closer at speed too fast to be driven in the heavy rain.

  It must be something pressing for the town’s police to race through the empty streets.

  Eric goes to the window by the door, and I watch him peer out of the window where the light of police sirens is flashing over his body and the walls of the house. The distort of the cream-colored walls and the tension in Eric’s shoulders male me attentive but I quietly stand out.

  The knife I hide under the table slides smoothly into my palm as I shield it behind my thigh to look nonchalant as I approach Eric. Every step I take brings me closer to his exposed back, the knife sinking its edges into my fingers as I step towards the windows to find the police cars had zoomed past.

  I push the knife under the edge of the window and change my face to worry as I put my hand on his naked back. His muscles coil at my touch but they lose some of the tension as he notices that it was just me.

  “Is everything alright?” I ask as I look out of the window again.

  Eric takes me by the waist and yank the curtains close. My shoulders press on his broad chest as he steers me away from the window while keeping a firm hand on the dip of my waist.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he rasps as he makes me sit on the couch.

  He sits beside me and sighs. Eric is still thinking of things that scare him, and I brush the stubbles on his jawline. It’s clenched and grinding down on his
teeth. I rub soothing circles alone the jaw to bring his muscles out of its uneasiness.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong,” I whisper in a low voice as I bring my legs up on the couch to kneel for height.

  My raised body forces him to look at me while I cup his cheeks. The hollowness in his eyes reflects nothing from the lights that I had turned on. The yellow bulb cast shadows on the facial structures of his face. He doesn’t look healthy, and the sirens from the distance don’t help him relax.

  The sound is too close, and it means that whatever is happening is nearby. The sound of sirens triggered Eric and whatever memories are swimming in his head.

  I do what I think is the best for a time like this; I take a seat on his lap and bring both my thighs to the side of his hip while pulling his head down to my shoulder. He doesn’t make any noise of complaint as he wraps his arms around my waist and back to mold our bodies together.

  Shaky breaths fan my hair. I run a hand through the base of his neck while playing with his hair to distract the hammering heart in his chest. I can feel the thumping through my shirt, and it’s too strong to be normal. I can only hope that he can find some peace and safety in my arms while listening to my heart to be the anchor to his thoughts.

  “Would you believe me if I told you that the first time I had an apple pie was when I came here?”

  Eric doesn’t answer, but his arm tightens to let me know that he is listening. That’s all I need to know because I’d hate to have to slap him out of whatever terrifying thoughts he is having, but I think it would hurt because his face looks like it’s made from stone.

  “The owner had a slice for me on my first day of work. It was delicious and very sweet. I suggested that a bit of lemon in the apples would help the sweetness. I almost had a cavity from the dish.”

  I pout while mindlessly twirling his hair, “He is a stubborn man, he refuses to change his family’s recipe.”

  He grumbles with a short laugh, but his throat opens for his raspy voice to go through. “I can make you one… with lemon.”