Better When He's Bold
Page 26
“It must be nice to have minions.”
He pulled the driver’s door open for me and flashed that dimple at me. That dimple was going to be my utter downfall, I just knew it, and so did my vagina.
“I can give or take a minion. It’s having the authority and the power to make shit happen that’s nice.”
I looked at Race over the frame of the door and blinked at him. “Is that why you’re doing what you’re doing? The power?”
I wanted to ask how he could be so comfortable in a role that had people pulling guns on him and putting him in danger. He didn’t seem like a cavalier person. There was too much working behind those forest-colored eyes and under all of that glorious hair on the top of his head.
The dimple got a little deeper and he pushed off the car, making the muscles in his shoulders ripple and my tummy dip.
“In a place like this, there aren’t very many good people running around. That means there are a lot of bad things happening under the surface and a lot of bad people doing those things. I’m not a bad guy, Brysen, but I’m not a good guy either. I’m just enough of both to keep a handle on those bad things to stop them from spilling over and infecting the few good ones left in this godforsaken place. That’s why I do what I do.”
I gulped and tried to tell myself that this didn’t make a difference, but it really did. He smirked at me and turned to walk to his flashy car.
“Besides, someone needs to get paid to do it, might as well be me. I don’t have a trust fund anymore.”
There it was. The two sides of him that made him unpredictable and hard to really get my head around. Altruistic and selfless while, in turn, being arrogant and flippant about his current circumstances.
I got in my car and waited for him to get the big, metal gate open so I could exit the compound. It was an odd place for him to be living. It was industrial, more a fortress than any kind of home, and it was right in the center of the Point, which automatically lent itself to a sort of filthy, postapocalyptic feel. For all his posturing about not being part of this place, Race oozed an essence of wealth and refinement that was just part of his genetic makeup. Living in a place that didn’t even really have furniture or anything to make it welcoming or comforting spoke to something greater going on with him. If my own living circumstances weren’t so all over the place, there was a really solid chance I would spend an inordinate amount of time trying to unearth the deeper subtext behind his choices.
The drive out of the city was fast, mostly because I was in a rush and worried about what was happening at my house, and partly because I was subconsciously trying to outrun the man and the red sports car behind me. I knew that scene in the bathroom wasn’t leaving my mind anytime soon, and I also knew if Karsen hadn’t called and interrupted, I would’ve taken a step with Race that would fundamentally alter the relationship we had.
All the lights were off in the front of the house when I pulled into the driveway. I took a long second to collect myself, found a long-sleeved sweater in the backseat of the car to cover my arm, and climbed out of the car. I was just going to wave Race on, hope he just kept driving, but he stopped and got out of the car, the new Mac clasped in one hand. Crap. I had forgotten all about the computer.
He didn’t give me a chance to say anything, just shoved the lightweight laptop in my hands, bent down, and pressed a hard, marking kiss to my parted lips and told me, “Keep your eyes peeled for anything weird until I can get a handle on who might be screwing with you. Forward me any more shitty text messages, and look over the notes I saved for you. I rearranged them in a different order. I don’t know who is teaching that class, but they are clearly an idiot and should never have gotten tenure.”
All I could do was gape at him as he turned on his heel and went back to the Mustang.
“Race . . .” I called his name and he looked at me over his broad shoulder. I didn’t know what else to say to him, so he grinned at me and I just shook my head.
“This”—he pointed a finger between him and me as he pulled open the car door—“is happening. Maybe not now because it isn’t a good time for you, and maybe not later because I might not be around all that long, but at some point in between, sooner or later, it’s going down. Be ready for it, Brysen.”
How could anyone ever be ready for that? I practically ran inside when I heard the motor on his car rev up. I slammed the front door behind me and marched toward the kitchen, full of so many different emotions that I could taste all the different sweet and sour flavors of them on my tongue.
He pulled the driver’s door open for me and flashed that dimple at me. That dimple was going to be my utter downfall, I just knew it, and so did my vagina.
“I can give or take a minion. It’s having the authority and the power to make shit happen that’s nice.”
I looked at Race over the frame of the door and blinked at him. “Is that why you’re doing what you’re doing? The power?”
I wanted to ask how he could be so comfortable in a role that had people pulling guns on him and putting him in danger. He didn’t seem like a cavalier person. There was too much working behind those forest-colored eyes and under all of that glorious hair on the top of his head.
The dimple got a little deeper and he pushed off the car, making the muscles in his shoulders ripple and my tummy dip.
“In a place like this, there aren’t very many good people running around. That means there are a lot of bad things happening under the surface and a lot of bad people doing those things. I’m not a bad guy, Brysen, but I’m not a good guy either. I’m just enough of both to keep a handle on those bad things to stop them from spilling over and infecting the few good ones left in this godforsaken place. That’s why I do what I do.”
I gulped and tried to tell myself that this didn’t make a difference, but it really did. He smirked at me and turned to walk to his flashy car.
“Besides, someone needs to get paid to do it, might as well be me. I don’t have a trust fund anymore.”
There it was. The two sides of him that made him unpredictable and hard to really get my head around. Altruistic and selfless while, in turn, being arrogant and flippant about his current circumstances.
I got in my car and waited for him to get the big, metal gate open so I could exit the compound. It was an odd place for him to be living. It was industrial, more a fortress than any kind of home, and it was right in the center of the Point, which automatically lent itself to a sort of filthy, postapocalyptic feel. For all his posturing about not being part of this place, Race oozed an essence of wealth and refinement that was just part of his genetic makeup. Living in a place that didn’t even really have furniture or anything to make it welcoming or comforting spoke to something greater going on with him. If my own living circumstances weren’t so all over the place, there was a really solid chance I would spend an inordinate amount of time trying to unearth the deeper subtext behind his choices.
The drive out of the city was fast, mostly because I was in a rush and worried about what was happening at my house, and partly because I was subconsciously trying to outrun the man and the red sports car behind me. I knew that scene in the bathroom wasn’t leaving my mind anytime soon, and I also knew if Karsen hadn’t called and interrupted, I would’ve taken a step with Race that would fundamentally alter the relationship we had.
All the lights were off in the front of the house when I pulled into the driveway. I took a long second to collect myself, found a long-sleeved sweater in the backseat of the car to cover my arm, and climbed out of the car. I was just going to wave Race on, hope he just kept driving, but he stopped and got out of the car, the new Mac clasped in one hand. Crap. I had forgotten all about the computer.
He didn’t give me a chance to say anything, just shoved the lightweight laptop in my hands, bent down, and pressed a hard, marking kiss to my parted lips and told me, “Keep your eyes peeled for anything weird until I can get a handle on who might be screwing with you. Forward me any more shitty text messages, and look over the notes I saved for you. I rearranged them in a different order. I don’t know who is teaching that class, but they are clearly an idiot and should never have gotten tenure.”
All I could do was gape at him as he turned on his heel and went back to the Mustang.
“Race . . .” I called his name and he looked at me over his broad shoulder. I didn’t know what else to say to him, so he grinned at me and I just shook my head.
“This”—he pointed a finger between him and me as he pulled open the car door—“is happening. Maybe not now because it isn’t a good time for you, and maybe not later because I might not be around all that long, but at some point in between, sooner or later, it’s going down. Be ready for it, Brysen.”
How could anyone ever be ready for that? I practically ran inside when I heard the motor on his car rev up. I slammed the front door behind me and marched toward the kitchen, full of so many different emotions that I could taste all the different sweet and sour flavors of them on my tongue.
