Page 65 of Rogue’s Promise

I fuck Meg hard and fast, and when her teeth sink into my bottom lip, I explode. Meg clenches tight at the sensation, her pussy fluttering and strangling my dick until I can’t thrust anymore. I slam home, all the way to the hilt, and empty inside of her.

Euphoria follows, a blissful in-between that doesn’t last nearly long enough. A shudder rolls through Meg and directly into me, working its way down my spine. Holding her there, unable to stand the thought of putting space between us now, I kiss her again, slower this time. She tries to drag the pace back into something frantic, but I don’t let her. I make her breathe between kisses. Make her feel the press of my forehead to hers. Make her hear me when I whisper her name. Finally, the fight leaves her and she simply sags against me.

“I’m going to fix everything,” I promise into the following silence. One breath at a time, Meg slowly pieces herself back together, her face against my shoulder. I hold her there, one hand spread across the back of her head, the other locked around her waist.

“What if you don’t?” she asks.

“Then I’ll take the fall.” Meg pulls back with a sudden jolt, her wide eyes searching my face for the lie.

“You can’t do that.” Brushing my lips over her temple, I turn and carry her over to the basin, lowering her and pulling out. My hands immediately cup her pussy, containing the mess as I turn the water back on. Meg lets me clean her, my fingers spreading intimately through her sex until the evidence of me has been erased. The whole while, I avoid her gaze. She can’t stop me from taking the blame for this. It’s all my fault anyway. I should have stayed home, stayed in Cody’s arms, and let Meg choose her own way to process her fear.

“We should go,” I breathe, scooping fresh clothes from the bags. An argument is held in Meg’s expression, but thankfully, she decides this isn’t the time to share it.

After dressing in near silence, we step back into a night that feels so much vaster than before. The service stop continues to hum, the moth is still battering against the fluorescent light, much like how I seem to be always drawn to Meg. With my hand on the small of her back and both bags over my shoulder, Meg pauses beside the passenger door, staring toward the empty road ahead.

“Do you think Laura’s alive?” she asks. My throat constricts, the hope that flares to life instead of a double-edged sword. Opening the door, I wait for Meg to slip inside before resting my arm on the roof.

“Yes,” I nod, glancing up at the road myself. Surely somewhere out there, Laura must be breathing. I don’t bother offering anymore than that, throwing out promises I don’t know how I can keep. Wherever Laura is, I hope she’s okay, but I wouldn’t have the first clue how to find her now. The only lead we had is pumped full of dirt. Throwing the bags into the trunk, I slide into the driver’s seat, but I can’t bring myself to start the engine just yet. I sit there, drowning in the echoing silence, struggling to grapple with what comes next.

“We have to head back to Hollowbrook,” I murmur eventually. “Act like nothing happened, tell no one what's happened. Not even Thiago.” Opening her mouth in a sudden protest, I hold up my hand. “He’s already implicated by locating Harrison for us. You really want him to be an accessory to murder as well?”

Closing her mouth, Meg’s eyes dip as she shakes her head. My shoulders slump slightly, grateful that this was one less fight we need to have. Glancing in the rearview mirror, my gaze settles on the road behind us. There isn’t the single flash of a headlight, the hint of a siren, the suggestion that any one is coming. Not yet anyway.

“We take this one step at a time. Whatever happens, let me handle it, okay?” I ask, pushing my luck with this new, agreeable version of her. No response comes and when I glance aside, I note how Meg has curled herself towards the door. Gripping her thigh, I draw her attention back to me.

“Megan. Answer me.” She bristles at the use of her full name, at the sternness of my tone, but something in my eyes gives her pause. I can’t imagine what it is. The fear that’s far too close to the surface, the concern for her wellbeing just underneath, the fact that I seem to be in a constant fight with myself against a rising panic attack, or the love for her that I’m struggling to hide anymore. Whatever it is, Meg softens, her hand closing over mine as she turns her body into me.

“I’ll let you handle it, Everest. I trust you.” Those few words nearly unravel me more than anything else tonight. Meg trusts me, even now, even after I brought her to the edge of hell and watched her pull the trigger. My fingers tighten around hers, just enough to anchor myself against the rush of emotion clawing through my chest.

I want to tell her I’ll deserve it. I wish that was even half true. I’m not worthy of the faith she’s placing in me, not after the secrets I’ve kept, but I will keep my promise. I’ll keep her safe from the police, from my father, and I’ll find a way to make both her and Cody happy. I swear it.

Lifting her hand to my mouth, I press one last kiss to her knuckles, letting the promise she can’t hear sit between us. Then I start the engine, pull back onto the empty road, and drive us toward Hollowbrook, toward Thiago and Cody and whatever else awaits, with Meg’s hand locked in mine and Harrison buried far, far behind.

Chapter Thirty Two

A further three days pass. Three days to stew in my own reckless actions. Three days to taunt and infuriate myself with questions that have no answers. Why am I like this? How long can I go on before I do something drastic, like put an end to my own misery or even worse, open up to someone else?

To say I haven’t slept is an understatement. My nightmares have merged with real life, appearing around my room whilst my eyes are wide open. I can’t help but consider the worst, imagining Everest dead in a ditch somewhere. The news app on my phone is on constantly, cycling through headlines as I await the one that will inevitably prove me right. I’m not the only one on edge, either.

Yesterday, I had to endure a call from Nicholas himself, his voice venomous as he asked questions for which I had no answers. As standard, it ended with the usual threat. Whether I was involved or not, if anything has happened to Everest, my life wouldn’t be worth living. Sometimes I’m not sure it is anyway, but one thing I can be sure of is that Nicholas won’t be the one to end it. I’ll blow my own brains out long before I give him that satisfaction.

That thought becomes less of a possibility and edges closer to a certainty as the hours creep by. More headlines play on loud speaker, more news reports filling my head. I start to sympathize with each one of them, crying for families of tragedy that I don’t even know. Any of them could be me, and I’ll have no one to blame but myself. Given that Everest’s phone is no longer receiving messages and calls aren’t connecting, I’m just lying here waiting for the inevitable.

That is, up until this morning. Dragging myself toward the bathroom on autopilot, my bare feet scuffle against the rough carpet, my body aching in places I’ve stopped caring about. My mind is empty, hollowed out of all thought or consideration for the world around me. Not even my usual vices work anymore. I ran out of weed and didn’t bother to seek out more. My speakers have been echoingly silent, and there’s no color worth painting with when a black void is spreading through me, dissolving everything in its path.

Up ahead, the bathroom door suddenly opens, a figure darting out into the hallway and colliding with my chest before I’ve even registered movement. Blinking down, I merely believe this to be another trick of psychosis seeing ghosts that aren’t really there. Except they haven’t reached out and touched me before.

The longer her hands remain pressed against my chest, the more warmth seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt, slipping into every cold, dark crevice carved into my soul. For one impossible second, the void stirs, a crack of light slipping inside. Allowing myself to believe she’s really here feels like a trick, but the hope sets in before I can stop it. Especially as her huge blue eyes lift to mine, filled with an emotion I can’t quite catch.

“You’re back,” I state coldly, my voice raw from screaming and crying, my mannerism icy as if I’ve forgotten how to interact with actual people. Meg frowns, quickly pulling her hands back as if she’s been burned, crossing her arms over her chest instead. She’s dressed for lacrosse practice, her legs clad in tight leggings, her dark hair in a high ponytail, as if she hasn’t been missing for five fucking days.

“Evidently,” she replies, trying to act nonchalant when her throat bobbing shows she’s anything but. Goosebumps rise on her arms, exhaustion seeping from beneath the defiance she’s trying to hide behind. Does she know what I did? Is that why she’s back and seemingly on edge with me? I don’t get the chance to figure it out as footsteps announce the arrival of someone else.

“Everything okay here, Amorzinha?” Thiago asks, appearing with the strap of Meg’s gym bag over his chest. He takes Meg’s arm, standing tall with calculating blue eyes. My shoulders pull back of their own accord. Meg might be content to lean on Thiago for support, but I don’t need to know him to know I don’t like him. Not one bit.

I especially don’t like how confident he is, sharing in an open, easy intimacy that doesn’t need to linger in the shadows for every stolen touch. Maybe that’s why he irks me. He has no fucking idea of how lucky he is. How simple it is for him to lay an open claim on Meg in our communal hallway. This is our apartment block, he shouldn’t even be here, but that argument dies a sudden death when another body steps up from behind me.

All of the air seizes in my lungs. I sense him before my gaze snaps to the side. In my surprise at seeing Meg, I hadn’t wanted to get too far ahead of myself. Yet here he is. Alive, somewhat. A quiet, grim heaviness is set into the angles of his face, his green eyes meeting mine with a thousand words trapped inside of them. It takes everything inside of me, every well-trained thread of restraint to remember we have company. I can’t throw myself into his arms and kiss the cold from my bones. I can’t punch him in the face for disappearing without a word.