Page 12 of Dark Knight
“Do you have somewhere you need to be, Princess? I wasn’t aware you were on a tight schedule.” I’d swear my dick twitches a little at the kitten-like growl she lets out. “Not long. A few blocks, maybe.” She looks back from her book to me, like she’s contemplating. Jesus, does she always have to be temperamental? “Don’t act like you aren’t interested, or I might just make you stay inside the house the entire time we’re here.”
I wouldn’t do that. It’s the last thing she needs. I brought her here to heal. She did more than fall apart back at the mansion. She shattered. This place is supposed to help her grow. Even if ten years ago I wouldn’t have considered this to be the place where growth would ever exist.
“Don’t threaten me, Romero. If I remember correctly, you volunteered to bring me here and stay, so whatever misery you experience is yours.” She sets the book aside, then reaches for the sneakers sitting under the coffee table. “Now, thank you for asking. I’d love to go for a walk. I could use the fresh air, anyway. I sort of gave up on the idea of leaving the house like a normal person when you were all freaked out over me going for a walk on my own.”
“You missed the most important part.Alone.I said you couldn’t go for a walk alone.” I didn’t bring enough painkillers to take care of my constant headaches since we arrived. “Hurry your ass up. I already wish I hadn’t bothered.”
“Do you go out of your way to be a grumpy asshole, or does it come naturally?” She stands, then stretches with her arms over her head. My gaze drifts to the little bit of skin that shows, and I grit my teeth. Tatum is a temptation I cannot afford to fuck up. I desperately need to get laid if a brief glimpse of creamy midriff is enough to make my mouth water.
“What can I say, certain people have a habit of bringing it out in me.” Staring at her would be bad enough without the added trauma she’s still suffering. The last thing she wants or needs is a man putting his hands on her, and I’d love to do that, but in more of a “let me wrap your hair around my fist while I brutalize your pussy until all you can feel every time you move is me” sort of way, but that’ll never happen.
Tatum rolls her eyes before bending to tighten her laces.God help me, I’m only human.There are only so many of my natural instincts I can ignore. Those black leggings she’s wearing don’t do anything to hide her plump round ass. Now, there’s no imagining it. My cock hardens to steel. It was easy enough to ignore her beauty in that giant ass house, but here, there's no escaping her.
I have to turn around and look out the storm door while she pulls on her jacket. A few houses on the block are empty, or at least they appear to be. It’s an occupational hazard to observe my surroundings and make connections based on what I see. I could be wrong, but the block appears to be clearing out. I don’t know whether it’s a fluke or if there’s something else going on.
I could be making this up in my head as a result of boredom.Fuck.I have to have something to think about beyond the next meal and the weather and how fucked it is for me to be in this house. I look around now and see it the way it is with the new paint, furniture, and even new flooring, but the old images from my memory exist alongside what I’m seeing.
I half expect to hear heavy boots pounding the upstairs floorboards any minute. As a little boy, I hated that sound.Dreaded it.There was never any way of knowing which version of him would stomp down those stairs. He was a tornado barreling down on you without a warning. He stomped when he was in a shitty mood and when he was feeling chipper. It took almost a year of living at Callum’s before the sound of approaching footsteps didn’t have me bursting at the seams with nervous energy.
A quick nudge against my arm makes me turn to find Tatum staring up at me. Something in my expression must have confused or surprised her since she fell back a step, wearing a puzzled look. “What?” It comes out like a bark from an angry dog. It took me a long time to learn that not all dogs bark that way when angry. Sometimes, it's because they're confused or threatened.
Her shoulders hunch protectively. “You, like, zoned out for a minute there. I was asking if you were ready to go or not.” I immediately notice the slight tremble of her body.Fuck me.I shouldn't snap at her like that, not with the history she’s experienced.
All I can think of in that instance is how often Kristoff did that to her? I would never hit a woman—not for any reason, not even this woman who’s made it her life's mission to piss me off—but there doesn't have to be a fist involved for someone to get hurt.
“Yeah, I’m ready. I’m sorry for yelling, you just startled me.”
She’s still wary, almost tiptoeing her way around me before stepping onto the porch. It's unseasonably chilly, enough to make her shove her hands into her pockets and shiver as I lock the front door. “I wonder if we're going to get a bad winter if it's this cold in early October.”
“The worst winter I ever experienced, I was wearing shorts right up until Halloween. I think I was maybe eleven or twelve.” I slide the keys into my pocket and follow her down the steps. “The first snowfall came before Thanksgiving, and it felt like it didn't stop until March.”
“I think I remember that winter, now that you mention it. We got a lot of snow days that year.”
“Which we only had to make up at the end of the year and cut into summer vacation.”
“That's right! Oh, that was so annoying.” Still, though, she's wearing a funny sort of smile. “See, we actually have shared experiences. Who would have thought?”
She has a good point. Neither of us knew the other existed. I doubt we were aware there was such a world as the world the others lived in, but some experiences are universal.
“So, where are we going? What's the first stop on the Romero tour?” Even though I bristle at her sarcasm, I know it's a good sign. If she's being sarcastic, she's not stuck in that jail cell also called her head.
“No place in particular, and don't treat this like a documentary, whatever you do. This could easily turn into the world's shortest walk.”
“And after all the bitching you did to get me to come out.” She clicks her tongue in mock sympathy, making me dismiss a sarcastic comment. The self-control I've shown since we got here should earn me sainthood. Considering the amount of unsaintly shit I’ve done—both for Callum and otherwise—that’s saying something.
We reach the end of the block, and I turn left, then point to a playground up ahead on the other side of the street. “I can’t make up the shit that we used to do on that playground,” I muse, snorting as the memories return. “That was where all the kids in the neighborhood got together. We'd ride our bikes and play ball, and eventually it was where we went to drink and smoke. Half the time, we could do that at somebody's house when their parents were at work.”
“For some reason, it’s not easy to picture you as that kid, though I can definitely believe you were a bad boy.”
“I wouldn't call myself a bad boy.”
“Then what would you call yourself?”
Loaded question.What would I call myself?A boy who wanted to be anywhere but at home, for starters. “I was a kid from the neighborhood, like all the other kids. We sort of did what everybody else did. What you see around you right now isn’t close to the way it was back then. See how clean the playground is? The new equipment?”
She nods as we walk. “Yeah, it looks nice. Clean.”
“Maybe one day, you’ll stop sounding surprised when you say that.” That comment earns me an eye roll, and I snort again. “Anyway, it was nothing like this back then. The swings were always breaking and the slide was metal and rusty. The first time I got drunk, I threw up all over the old sliding board.”