Recalled (Death Escorts #1)(44)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Something in me felt lonely watching them go… like the disappearing lights represented the loss of something more. Something important.

We lay there long after the sky turned black and we could see the stars. Eventually, we got up, our hands no longer touching. And as we walked away I realized what I lost.

This moment.

This chance.

Maybe if I’d said something more, admitted just one of my secrets, something might have changed.

But I hadn’t and now it was gone.

Nothing had changed.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Secret – Something kept hidden from others or known only to oneself or to a few.”

Piper

He wanted to know my secrets. I almost told him. I almost told him everything. Lying out there in the Alaskan snow hadn’t been cold. It was warm. We’d never been that close before. Sure, I always felt a little pull between us, but tonight it seemed stronger. I felt like I might get a glimpse of the man he seemed to hide.

I almost admitted my secrets. I thought about it. But I knew in that moment I wouldn’t be able to stop at one. They all would’ve come tumbling out of my mouth. The way he looked at me through the dark… I could feel his stare. And even though my hands were gloved, I swear I could feel the heat of his skin against mine.

For a moment, when he touched my cheek, I thought he might kiss me, lay his lips upon mine, and that the northern lights would’ve become just background to the show of colors and feelings swirling within me.

But something held him back. Just as something held me back.

I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but I wanted to find it. I wanted to erase it so the only thing between us was the beating of our hearts and the barrier of our skin.

I knew what held me back was the missing pieces of the puzzle that was Dex, but the more I got to know him, the harder it was to remember I was trying to piece him together. I was beginning not to care about the things I didn’t know. I was beginning to only think about the things I did know.

He said he felt as if he were competing with the man who died. That might have been true in the beginning, but now the tides were turning. What Dex didn’t seem to realize was that everything else was beginning to have to compete with him.

And he was winning.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Asphyxiation – the condition of being deprived of oxygen (as by having breathing stopped).”

Dex

That night I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t because I was in a new place. I’d slept in far worse places before. It was because of her. She was one room away, nothing separating us but drywall and paint. Her light went out hours ago and I knew she was sound asleep, but still, her presence unsettled me.

How could one girl have so effectively tied me up in knots? Never in all my life had anyone gotten under my skin like this. And that’s where she was. Somehow she wiggled her way beneath the surface; she wormed her way into my mind.

I couldn’t allow that. I had a job to do, a debt to fulfill. It should’ve been an easy job, but it was proving to be much harder. I got up and paced the room in the dark, back and forth across the rug, trying to make sense of it all. And then something struck me. A single word that whispered ever so quietly through my mind.

I stopped mid-stride, halting with the force of the thought.

Love.

Even as I heard the word, I shook my head, denying it. This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It was sick and twisted and probably somehow part of G.R.’s trial assignment before making me an official Death Escort.

Besides, I’d never been in love before. I hadn’t even loved my own mother. The day I turned fourteen I walked out of her apartment and never looked back. I couldn’t care less where she was today and she was the only family I had. Sure, I had friends, people that shared the street, guys that I sometimes worked with, but no one I wouldn’t have sold out for the right price. A guy like me didn’t know how to love. He only knew how to survive.

And this girl was making it hard to survive.

On impulse I grabbed up the white pillow off the couch and made my way to her room. I wanted to stomp with determination. I wanted to shout with pride, but I didn’t.

I moved silently, stealthily, and with purpose.

The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, and I pushed it lightly, testing to see if it would creak. It didn’t so I pushed it open some more. The room was darkened, but I could still make out the basic shapes in the room, the bed in the center. I crept closer, gripping the pillow close to my chest.

She lay on her side, facing me, and the covers were pulled up under her chin. Her dark hair was a mere shadow against the white of her pillow and her body was completely relaxed into the mattress.

Do it now, part of me whispered. The part that was programmed to do my job.

The pillow twisted in my grip and I knew this was probably the easiest way to do it. All I had to do was reach out, mere inches, and cover her head with my pillow. All I had to do was smother her in her sleep and it would be over. She might not even know what was happening. If she did, it would be very brief and confusing and then she’d be gone.

And with the pillow covering her face, I wouldn’t have to watch her die. I wouldn’t see the panic on her face—the fear. I would completely avoid seeing the light in her eyes go out, or face the realization that I was the one betraying her.

I pulled the pillow away from my body and held it out, lowering it toward her still, sleeping form.

Do it now.

My heart was beating so hard in my chest that I thought the sound would surely wake her and then my secret would be exposed. That she would know what a monster I truly was.

I took a shuddering breath and looked down, ready to complete my act… She looked smaller in sleep, more fragile somehow.

I dropped the pillow. It hit the side of the bed on its way to the floor.

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I do this one thing?

I hunched forward to pick up the pillow and then slowly backed toward the door. I couldn’t do this. Not right now. I would find another way. Tomorrow. Things would seem easier in the daylight.

“Dex?” I heard from the darkness. Her voice was sleepy and low. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I said, hoarse. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just checking on you.”

“That couch is probably uncomfortable,” she said, her voice still heavy. “The fabric is itchy.”

“No, its fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Does your head hurt?”

My head? Then I remembered the stitches. I’d only got them that morning, but it seemed like days ago. “My head doesn’t hurt.”