Page 153 of Corpse Roads
“I know you.”
My laugh is bitter. “That isn’t enough.”
“It is. You did nothing wrong.”
His unwavering faith in me is a guilt-inducing knife twisting in my heathen heart. I don’t deserve Enzo’s trust or admiration. If he knew the truth, he would cast me out to die alone.
Laura’s blood is on my hands.
She died because of me.
Despite feeling like the worst person in the world, my legs tense around him. I can’t help it; my body won’t listen to me. It wants nothing more than to be touched and worshipped in the darkness of sin.
That’s the only revenge I can take on Pastor Michaels. I want to do every twisted, dirty thing he accused other people of. He told me I was a sinner, destined for hell. I want to earn that title.
Enzo’s eyes narrow on me. My heart is racing so hard, I can hardly see the room around us. Ever so gently, he cups my cheek in his big, scarred hand. I feel so small and helpless in comparison to him.
“I know you,” he repeats bluntly.
“You don’t.”
“Bullshit, Harlow. Say that crap again and we’re going to have a problem. I won’t hear it.”
Burying my fingers in the length of overgrown hair at the top of his head, I stroke the shaved sides that reveal lumps and bumps in his skull, before moving down to his face.
Smile lines and a five o’clock shadow mark his skin, interrupted by the odd, faded scar. Enzo’s eyes slide shut, his chest vibrating with a contended purr.
My friendship with him has always been different from the others, but after everything that’s happened, he’s been touching me more freely. Sharing a bed is so intimate, more than what mere friends do.
“Enzo?”
His eyes flutter open, revealing amber jewels.
“Yeah?”
“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry for leaving you all.”
We stare deep into each other’s eyes. I can see the imagined boundaries between us melting away like morning mist. It’s all there on display—his hope, fear, the crushing loneliness and forever-present exhaustion.
He sees my anxiety and despair, the desperate need to fix the pain I’ve caused. Both of us are broken in different ways, but those shattered pieces are calling to each other, magnetised by hope.
“Harlow… the things I want to say to you… do to you… well, you’re not ready for it. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Who are you to say I’m not ready?”
His eyes flash into dark, black pinpricks of desire. “You’re not.”
“Tell me what you want to do, and I’ll tell you what I’m ready for.”
“Are you bargaining with me, little one?”
I offer him an innocent smile. “What if I am?”
The heat from his body is burning through my clothing. I squirm on the countertop, needing some kind of relief from this relentless tension between us.
I want him to kiss me. Touch me. Worship me like Hunter did, claiming me for his entire team to hear. But I can’t do this anymore. They have to know what’s going on.
“Is this normal?” I breathe.