The Bulletproof Boy Page 7

  I find myself stirring, waking up from a deep sleep.

  It is dark. Yawning and stretching, my hand collides with someone’s skin. I feel the skin curiously, trying to determine its owner. “Cole?” I whisper.

  The skin moves.

  The person possessing the skin moves on top of me, raking his hands all over my body. His fingernails are sharp and scratchy, like thorns. My heartbeat quickens. I squint to try and see who it is, but there are only shadows. All I feel is his skin against mine. A leathery old skin, thin and wrinkled, with jagged bones just beneath the surface.

  “My darling girl,” says the man in a breathless voice, as he slowly clamps a hand around my neck. His fingers are stiff and brittle as digging into my windpipe. “How many years has it been since I’ve touched you?”

  “Benjamin,” I whisper.

  “Is that any way to speak to me?” he asks, with hurt and disappointment. “I adopted you, Serena. I’m your father now. You should call me Papa.”

  When I feel his wet, fleshy tongue licking my face, raking over my lips, nose and eyelids, a scream is ripped from my throat. The clammy feeling of his saliva being drooled all over my skin makes me shiver violently, like I have just heard nails on a chalkboard.

  He continues to lick my face, like a dog, spreading his saliva all over my eyes, and my lips, until I am choking in his saliva. I am drowning in it. I scream and squirm, trying to get free.

  “Scarlett!” Cole says, from somewhere in the distance. “Wake up! Come on, wake up! It’s just a dream. Just another nightmare, love.”

  I find that he is lightly slapping my cheeks.

  When I rip my eyes open, I see the look of concern on his face. I am panting heavily.

  There is a wet washcloth on my forehead, soaked in cold water. It is dripping all over my skin. I rip it off in disgust, throwing it at Cole with a sob. It must have been this washcloth that made me dream of Benjamin’s saliva. Ugh. Disgusting.

  Cole sits beside me and gathers me up into his arms, holding me close. I feel a strange sense of déjà vu, like he has done this for me through many nightmares. And I have done this for him.

  The familiar sensation of his arms around me is soothing, and begins to help me calm down. My breathing slows, and my heart stops straining to beat right out of my chest.

  “You were dreaming about him again?” Cole asks.

  I nod as I press my forehead into his chest. “Yeah.”

  He runs a hand over my hair. “We’re dozens of miles away from every living person, Scar. He can’t get to you way out here. I’ll take care of you.”

  Clutching his arm, I nod gratefully. These nightmares have always bothered me, but I guess the dehydration, combined with seeing Benjamin recently…

  At least Cole knows. At least he understands.

  I don’t have to explain myself to him.

  “Do you think you can eat something?” he asks me gently. “We have lots of food. Please try to eat something, honey.”

  Why is he calling me that? It makes me feel like a child. My face screws up in frustration. Did he used to call me that, ages ago? I don’t think so. I can’t remember. I’m only one year younger than him, so I don’t need any of his condescending diminutives.

  Is that what he called some other woman? Is that what he called Annabelle? Or maybe Brittany?

  I’ll be damned if I allow Cole to lump me in with all of his other women, and recycle the same basic, boring terms of affection for me. Doesn’t he know who I am?

  Do you even know? Who are you, exactly? Who am I?

  Pushing him away, I let my head fall back onto the pillow, closing my eyes. My stomach growls, but I am too tired and sore to move. Just a little more sleep.

  Maybe I’ll wake up if he can remember the proper way to address me. But I can’t remember, either. What did we used to call each other? What was my name? I think it was Scarlett. But even that wasn’t really my name.

  As I drift off to sleep, I see various driver’s licenses and passports swirling in my mind.

  What the hell is my name? What was my name before all of this? Before Sophie, or Scarlett, or Serena? Before people called me all these various terms. Honey, baby, sweetie, darling little girl.

  I can’t remember. If I don’t know what to call myself, how can he?

  The passports all disintegrate, turning into ash.

  I never traveled that much, anyway.

  Chapter Eight

  Sitting up suddenly in bed, I find myself alert and clearheaded. My dehydration headache is gone, and I feel like myself again. Looking down at my reddened arms, I see that my sunburnt skin looks ridiculous, but I don’t care. When I try to move my legs, I feel that the muscles are all very sore, and I see that the blisters on my feet are loosely wrapped with bandages. Cole is sitting a few feet away at the writing desk, which doubles as a kitchen countertop, and he seems to be sketching something intently. He must be designing a new building.

  I inhale with contentment. He doesn’t need to work anymore. He’s legally dead, and free from the rat race. But designing architecture is so deep in his blood that he can’t just turn it off at will.

  Throwing my feet off the side of the bed, I stand up and stretch, examining the mobile home. I wasn’t lucid enough to really study the design of the structure before. I walk up and down the length of the small house, opening doors to examine multi-functional closets and to check out the surprisingly stylish bathroom. My eyebrows lift at the sight of the luxurious steam shower with multiple jets to surround the body, and comfortable seating in the chamber that allows it to double as a bath or hot tub.

  Turning back to Cole, I see the smug look on his face. “Do you like it?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes at his arrogance. He knows I’m impressed, and he wants to rub it in my face. Classic Cole. My stomach growls and I walk briskly over to the kitchen area and begin opening cabinet doors.

  “Where’s my mac and cheese?” I ask.

  “It’s in the microwave, in case you want to heat—”

  I have yanked open the microwave before he finishes speaking, and pulled the saran wrap off the bowl. Using the plastic fork he left in the bowl, I begin shoveling the cold pasta into my mouth, barely chewing before I swallow.

  “Jeez, Scar, at least heat it up first!” he complains, hurt that I’m not enjoying his masterpiece as intended.

  “It’s delicious,” I say with my mouth full, between bites. “Now get me more food. Any food, fast.” I sit down on the bed and continue to stuff macaroni into my face until the bowl is clean. Then I scrape the bits of dried cheese off the bottom of the bowl and close my eyes as I savor it. “Mmm, that was really good. What else do you have?”

  Cole has opened a compartment in the floor of the mobile home that I hadn’t seen before. “I have military MREs mostly, but I’ve also got some nicer ones from Mountain House that take a few minutes to heat up…”

  Reaching into the compartment, I stick my hand in an open cardboard box and pull out the first package I touch. Ripping it open, I use the included spoon to ravenously devour the contents of the pouch with no regard to the taste.

  I just need calories.

  “I forgot you had such dreadful table manners,” Cole says playfully.

  Glaring at him, I consider throwing something at his head, but I am still so hungry. There are only a few bites left. I don’t even know what I’m eating, but I don’t care.

  “The food is only going to last us a couple months,” Cole says. “I have about a year’s supply, but with you here, it will go faster. At some point, I’ll probably have to drive over to the house and order another year’s supply, along with any medicine we might need.”

  When I finish swallowing the last bite, I sigh with the satisfaction of having a full belly. “You know that I’m not going to be this hungry on a daily basis. I just had an unusually strenuous couple of days, with a lot more exercise than usual.”

  I am digging back into the box for another pouch
of food when I hear Cole clear his throat.

  “So you don’t think that we’ll be doing any strenuous activities?” he asks me innocently. “We don’t have television here, you know. How can you be absolutely sure you won’t be getting a lot of regular exercise?”

  Glancing up at him, I see the mischievous boyish smile on his face.

  “Well, that depends,” I answer coyly. “Do you have any books?”

  “Books? I’m afraid not,” he says with mock sadness. “You see, I’m not that fancy sort of fellow who reads a lot of books.”

  I lift my eyebrow as I grab another pouch of food and sit back up on the bed. I get the feeling he’s roleplaying with me. “Not a single one?”

  “‘Fraid not,” he says with a helpless shrug. “You see, I’m just a rugged mountain man, used to manual labor with these here calloused hands. I ain’t never read me no books. Wasn’t expectin’ no fine young ladies with edumucation and book learnin’ to wander over my way.”

  “No?” I say, trying very hard to keep myself from laughing.

  “No.” He closes the floor compartment of the mobile home and moves closer, circling his hands around my ankles. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of sophisticated entertainment for a cosmopolitan girl like yourself. But I reckon I know how to keep you entertained in other ways.”

  “Do you, now?” I ask him.

  He slides his hand up and down my calves. “Sure. Out here in the country, us cowboys know how to pass the time when we’re not riding horses and… chasing cows?”

  “Oh, is that what cowboys do?” I say teasingly. “It sounds so dangerous. You must be so brave.”

  “I am,” he says, sliding his hands over my thighs. “It’s hard, physical work that gets you all sweaty. Would you like me to show you? I bet I can make you forget you ever read a book in your life.”

  He’s looking at me in a way that makes my stomach do flip-flops. I try to seem unaffected. “That’s a lot of big talk, cowboy. You’d better not disappoint me.”

  Pushing my knees apart, he moves between them and stares directly into my eyes for several seconds. My throat goes dry as he slides his hands into my hair to drag my face down to his. When his lips meet mine, I sigh against him, and the MRE pouch in my hand falls to the side, forgotten. I allow my arms to reach out tentatively, colliding with his chest, his shirt, and finally wrapping tightly around his neck. My mind becomes a hazy fog as I sink into his kiss.

  He lets his hands move lower to grab my bottom, dragging me flush against his body so that I can feel his warmth radiating through my jeans. He bites my lower lip gently before kissing down my neck, nibbling playfully and being careful to avoid the sunburned skin. One of his hands moves to grasp and knead my breast while he kisses me, and I moan and tighten my arms around his neck.

  He pauses, and I feel his breath leaving his body in a sharp burst.

  I release him and pull away, looking at his face. He’s in pain.

  Looking at his neck where I was holding him, I push his shirt aside and examine the bandage on his shoulder. There is a little spot of blood visible through the fabric.

  “Cole!” I exclaim with worry. “You were shot here? How bad was it?”

  “Not bad at all,” he assures me. “It didn’t even hit an artery. It just tore up my muscle and got lodged in my shoulder blade, but it was easily removed.”

  “Lodged in your shoulder blade?” I ask him in horror.

  “But I’m fine!” he says, patting the spot lightly before reaching out to rub my upper arms reassuringly. “Don’t worry. The doctor said I might have some nerve damage and need physical therapy, but I don’t. Every part of my body is in working order. Every part.”

  “For god’s sake, Cole,” I say, deftly standing up and slipping out of his grasp. “You better be careful, or we could tear all your stitches.”

  “I would be happy if you tore all my stitches,” he says, advancing on me. “I’ve never made love to a CIA agent before. Is it just like the movies?”

  Sighing, I feel a pang of guilt that I haven’t gotten back in touch with my boss. “You will probably never find out. I went AWOL and off the grid, so I’ve probably lost my job by now. I’ve been such a bitch to my wonderful boss.”

  “No one in her right mind would ever fire you, Scarlett. You’re brilliant.” He smiles, moving closer to me and hooking his fingers in the belt loops of my jeans. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about this Sophie Shields person. I’d love to meet her.”

  “Hey, you know what,” I tell him suddenly, feeling very hot and sticky. I lift my hands to itch at my sunburn. “I just realized that I smell gross. Do you mind if I take a shower in your luxury hydrotherapy spa-sauna-steam-waterfall thing?”

  “Go right ahead,” he says, with a grin. “Best shower of your life, I guarantee it.”

  “I’m sure it would be if my skin wasn’t all peeling off. Thanks for making me walk a billion miles in the hot sun to find you, by the way. I’m still sore about that.”

  “You should let me make it up to you. I bet I can make the long walk worthwhile,” he says, undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. He slides his fingers under my clothes, gently cupping my sex, and allowing his warmth to seep through my skin. “Besides, it makes sense to get really dirty before you can get clean.”

  I breathe heavily, unconsciously pressing myself against his hand, but then I remember everything and pull away abruptly. “Hey, do you have a razor? The last time I shaved my legs was for your funeral. Thanks for making me attend your funeral, by the way. You have a lovely tombstone. Did you know it says you were an extraordinary husband? Extraordinary! Nobody even bothered to ask your wife if she thought that word was accurate. But consider this: would an extraordinary husband pretend to be dead and make his poor wife cry for days? I’m not so sure!”

  “Scar…” he says gently, with an apology in his voice.

  Cole is damned good at apologies and explanations. So since I can’t stand here and listen to him apologize or explain without forgiving him almost instantly, I turn my back and walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. There. Let him feel guilty for a few minutes.

  Chapter Nine

  Pulling off my shirt, I wince at the pain as the fabric scrapes over my scaly, peeling sunburn. Next, I reach behind myself to unhook my bra, and glancing into the mirror, I am vastly annoyed to see a perfect, white imprint of the bra straps on my otherwise red back. I guess I must have fallen asleep on my stomach, and my shirt offered little protection.

  Growling in frustration, I rip the bra off, followed by my jeans and underwear. Last, I gently pull the bandages off my feet before stepping into the shower. It takes me a minute to figure out how to open the chamber, which has a watertight seal and high-quality glass. As I shut the door behind me, I am keenly aware of how much my skin is burning as it is exposed to the air. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, and everything else generally hurts. I can’t wait to get some cool water on my skin to rinse off the dirt.

  But when I begin pressing buttons to turn on the water, nothing happens.

  There are a lot of buttons. Like, I swear this shower has more buttons than some skyscraper elevators. The buttons are also very fancy, with silver LED lights surrounding each little bubble. I punch a few marked with various symbols for water. One looks like a snowflake, which I assume means cold, one looks like a gust of wind, which I gather means steam, and one looks like a waterfall, while a third looks like an explosion of water from all angles.

  Nothing is happening.

  Getting annoyed, I begin punching all the buttons. Why is this not working? I am usually the person who figures this sort of shit out. Do I need to hack into this shower to get some damn water on my body? I am startled by a voice coming out of the user interface.

  Yes. There are actually speakers in this shower.

  “Are you having some trouble in there?” Cole asks cheerfully.

  I roll my eyes and exhale in exasperation, before hittin
g the button next to the speakers. “Why is there an intercom in your shower, Cole?”

  His voice filters through at once. “While we originally designed the NovaTank for NASA, it might be many years before those applications can be realized. They are testing a few out in simulations as we speak, but we were also designing a second model for use by the military, especially in rescue or aid missions, or disaster zones. The durability is unmatched by most emergency vehicles. So, the idea is that if someone is taking a shower and the Nova comes under fire, or if enemies seem to be approaching, you can tell your partner what’s happening from the driver’s seat so that he may get out of the shower quickly to assist you.”

  I cock my head to the side, curiously. “That’s really neat. How does the vehicle detect if enemies are approaching?”

  “I was hoping you could help me with those features.”

  “Hmmm,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe some infrared or sonar… Cole! Don’t distract me. How do I use the damn shower?”

  “Do you want me to come in and show you?” he asks.

  Sighing, I shrug in defeat. “Sure! But no peeking.”

  When he enters the bathroom, I step back and use my arms to cover myself modestly. He enters and presses a single button, which begins the flow of a few extremely gentle streams of water. They feel like a soft caress on my tortured body. I sigh gratefully. He presses another button to make the temperature a little warmer.

  “Why couldn’t I get it?” I complain. “I swear I pressed that button.”

  He turns to me with a smile. “I may or may not have turned off the water while you were undressing, in hopes that I could offer some technical assistance to a certain sexy computer engineer who has never needed technical assistance in her life.”

  “You asshole!” I say, sacrificing modesty to smack him in the arm.

  “I put the pressure on a low setting so it wouldn’t hurt your sunburn. Is it okay?”

  “It’s perfect,” I tell him honestly. Hesitating, I brush some of the wet hair out of my face, glancing down with a sudden shyness. “Do you want to join me?”