Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 35- Callie

"How was your patient," he asks with a wry grin.

The side eye I send his way must convey what words never could. While Rave wasn't the worst he could be, he certainly has room for improvement.

God's eyes darken and he adjusts his stance, rolling his shoulders back. My back straightens when I catch his expression. Something in me just wants to please him and the look on his face has the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. The man must have been a teacher before he took up a life of crime. The way he corrected me with just a look, that takes experience.

"Figures," he says almost disappointed. "You look bored. Sorry about that. We don't really have much in terms of entertainment."

"It's fine, really. I've trying become some kind of solitaire expert," I say with a thin smile and awkward laugh, all teeth and gums. "Figured I should brush up on some kind of new skill since I'm pretty sure I'm fired. Card shuffling and counting have to be needed somewhere. Maybe I'll try my hand in casinos. Far away from here. A new life, a new me," I sigh wistfully.

Although the idea sounds great, I can never leave. Being that far from Rachel would kill me. Even the closest casinos in Louisiana or Oklahoma are too far away. I'd never forgive myself if she needed me and I couldn't get back in time, not that she would blame me. Always telling me to seek out my own adventures, she would be proud as long as I was living and not running. I'm not even sure I know what living really is. Shackled to Colt, he limited me so much for so long.

"Wouldn't be the first time would it?" He asks and I freeze even though his words aren't accusatory, just curious.

Playing it off is my first instinct, but from what I know of God, he wouldn't fall for my lie. He may allow it for the moment, but he won't forget it and there's just something in me that hates the thought of lying and disappointing him.

"Do I have to answer," I ask, peering up at him through my eyelashes.

"I'll never make you do anything Calista. I will however ask you to try." Sitting down on the couch, he seems so much more approachable than when he was standing over me. It no longer feels like an interrogation, more like a conversation between friends.

"I'd rather not," I whisper. "If that's alright. It's not a happy story," I say, that painted on smile returning to my face though it never touches my eyes. It's silly, the need to smile despite how I may feel. That grin and bare it attitude has been drilled into me though and no matter how much of my old self I've shed over the years, I think that part may be here to stay.

"Not all stories are," he responds and I force myself to look into his eyes, seeing a reflection that tells me so much more than his words.

"Just know that it's not because I don't trust you," I start.

He arches one of his thick brows at that.

Fair point.

"Okay, I trust you not to hurt me." I look down and see the bruises Pretty Boy left on my skin. "Too much," I amend with a flush of my cheeks. "But trusting you guys with any more than that, I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for."

God takes a second before he answers, fully taking in everything I've said. Colt never really listened. Oh, he nodded along when I spoke and would look at me, but he never really heard me. I doubt he ever really did, but as time went on, he stopped trying to pretend.

"I get it. Just know that the hard stories are usually the ones most in need of telling."

His scars stretch over his neck as he talks, the skin stitched together like a human patchwork quilt. "Will you ever tell me yours," I quip back.