Bullet ✔️

Chapter 13

The Audi stopped gently next to my broken hatchback in the garage. Neither of us had said anything the last half hour, and I reached over to open the door and just leave, but the door locked and wouldn't open no matter how many times I pulled in the steel handle.

I sat back, sighing deeply, knowing that Damian had more he wanted to say—but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any of it.

"Isabelle, I—"

"Thank you," I cut him off, "for keeping me safe and keeping your promise. I'm forever grateful, Damian."

It was meant as a goodbye. I'd had enough of his moodiness, of his unreadable expressions and contradicting words and actions. A part of me wanted to go back in time, to make me squirm away from that heavenly kiss at the shooting range—but another part wanted to go back and just stay in that moment forever. Feel his warmth, the scrape of his stubbles, the calluses on his thumb as he stroke it over my chin and cheek..

"I'm sorry it took so long." He sounded clipped, almost angry.

I gritted my teeth and turned towards him. "Don't you dare," I warned, pointing my finger at him. "Don't you dare push me away and say it was nothing."

"Then what am I supposed to say, huh? That I enjoyed our time together? That I wish you didn't hate my guts for all the crimes I committed today?!" He raised his voice, turning towards me, his eyes wide and bright with rage. "I don't want to say all that, because you just want to go home and forget."

"I don't!" I yelled, not caring if anyone else inside the garage heard or saw my cheeks turn red from anger and shiny from tears.

"You should!" He practically spat the words at me. "Because if you don't, you'll never get out. I can't always kill everyone who threatens to take your life, sweetheart. I'm bad, but I'm not that bad."

And there it was.

He bluntly said he'd killed that man. The man with the dark, icky eyes and the shiny head and the neck tattoos. The cold steel of his gun still felt fresh against my temple, and I swallowed another lump from my throat as I pretended not to care.

"I wish I never met you," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady and hard. It broke my heart to say, because it wasn't the truth, even if I wanted it to be. It was to save myself some heartache later.

His eyes flickered to mine, and for the first time, they were shiny. "Don't lie to yourself." He snorted, shaking his head. "You just wish I wasn't a criminal."

"How would you know what I wish, Damian? You never spend more time with me than necessary, and you never—"

"And why do you think that is?" His eyes were still shiny, but they were back to the same brightness he had a moment ago. The brightness of anger. "You said the moment you found out the truth that you wanted nothing to do with it—with me. So I stayed the fuck away, because I can't not touch you when you're around, like you're a damn magnet! I should never have taken you to the range, I should've just let you stay in that house, for Christ's sake, but I couldn't!"

My mouth was open. He sounded like he was yelling, like he was ranting about something he hated about himself and wanted to change—but he was saying he couldn't stay away from me.

The next few seconds were a blur. I tried to find my tongue to say something back, that I never wanted to forget him, that I was starting to think that maybe I could live with knowing what I did, but the words never made it to my mouth before he did.

His hands were in my hair, pulling me closer, and I untangled the seatbelt to help him get me closer. My fingers entangled themselves in his shirt, holding on for dear life as he finally located my tongue with his own, setting fire to it—and me.

The kiss tasted salty from my tears. How I ended up on his lap, I didn't know, but somehow I'd climbed and he'd pulled, and I was straddling Damian Strac in his super expensive car, knowing full well what the stains on his shirt were from.

His hands roamed my body, down the dip of my waist, to my backside, and all the way back up to my neck, while he groaned into my mouth. I couldn't keep my own moans from sounding either as I gripped his shirt still and let him do whatever he pleased. It was like all those wet dreams and daydreams were coming to life—only way better and way worse at the same time.

Because this didn't feel like the start of something. It was hot, and needy, and desperate, like he'd been holding it in for weeks. The smirk he gave me when we first saw each other fitted right in with the way his hands pulled me impossibly closer by my lower back. His grinning gloating when I ogled his bare, tattooed chest at the hotel was mixed in there somewhere too, but there were no hints of a future.

Only the longing and desperation of what had been. And what could have been.

After what felt like ages—though still too soon—he pulled back, his darkened eyes so full of lust and certainty that I almost rocked my hips against him. Almost.. I knew what was coming, but I wasn't ready for it, so I clutched his shirt even harder, and whispered, "I don't want to forget you."

His hands reached up, pushing my hair behind my ears. "I don't want you to either," he whispered back, and I could sense the next word before he said it. "But my world isn't yours, sweetheart."

He was right. I knew he was right, of course, but it still hurt. It just just my luck that the one man I'd be weak for, after all that time, would be the one I couldn't have.. The one man I couldn't force out of my head, the one man I couldn't not think about.

A click filled the car, and the doors were unlocked. His silent push to finally get out and leave him behind—forget him. It was hard, but I opened the door and climbed out of his lap, leaning my butt against the cold exterior of my own car, as he climbed out too.

He walked around to get my bag, like a true gentleman, and handed it to me. For a moment, his smirk was back, and I smiled. Just a little.

"I'm sorry I said I wished I never met you," I muttered, taking the bag from his hands.

"It's fine," he replied. "I kind of do, because you're unforgettable."

He leaned down, placing a long, desperate kiss on my lips, his hand resting on the back of my head. It was over too quickly. He took a step back, grinning at me, before getting back into his car and shutting the door.

I stood there, motionless, as he backed away and disappeared out of the garage, and for a moment it was like I dreamed the whole thing. One second he was there, the next he was gone, and I'd probably never see him again.

It took a while before I managed to get myself up the stairs and into my apartment—my home. The plant looked almost dead, and I immediately filled an empty bottle with some water and poured it into the dried out brick of dirt inside the pot, a Hail Mary, of sorts. Then as I turned around, I realized my place looked different. Or maybe I was different.

It was still the same, almost sterile, white, with not much to brag about in any way. The kitchen island still had the ketchup bottle from my breakfast with Damian on it, and I wasn't sure I wanted to put it away and erase the last trace of him from existence.

Eventually I sat down and called my dad. I told him that I was home, and apologized for calling so late, but he said it was okay and asked me about what happened earlier. I couldn't tell him, of course, but I said my new friend's husband had been away at work and she'd missed him, and then he asked who the other guy was.

"A very nice guy," I'd said, with a small smile on my face. When he asked if there was something going on with him and me, I'd said, "No, it can't, even if I want to."

He was supportive, even if he said, "If you want him, and he's nice, you should go get him. Your mom was the one to chase me down back in the day, you know. Though, he looked a little scary."

I laughed, and he laughed, and then when we'd hung up I cried, until I eventually fell asleep. If I dreamt anything, I didn't remember, and if I heard Damian call me sweetheart and call for me to come running back to him, I must've dreamt after all.. Or I was already going crazy.