Kissing Skulls *Revised*

Chapter 27

*I don't really like this chapter, but this is the best it's going to get until my second edits.  Which means feedback is vital, unless you don't care about poor ol' Nikki's sanity--in which case, read away.  There are about two chapters left to be posted at my discretion.*

Chapter 27

“Hey!”  The mysterious grip loosened and I found myself swung around to face Dustyn.  I didn’t want to imagine the look on my face—but it must have been shocking enough for him to let me go.

 “Easy.”  He held up his hands in a placating gesture as I stumbled against the wall, shaking like a leaf.    “It’s only me.  What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” I stammered.  My hand clung to the wall like an anchor.  My teeth were chattering out of fear.  Any moment I felt like I might either burst into tears or scream. 

Dustyn’s eyes were flinty and sharp.  Like lasers they honed in on the way my bottom lip trembled.

“What did he say to you?”

I saw his gaze dart down the hallway, and an irrational fear that he would try to confront his father rose up in me.

“Nothing—”

“Mary, what did he say to you?”

He took a step in the storeroom’s direction, and I panicked.

“Nothing,” I said, pulling and the sleeve of his shirt.  “He didn’t say anything…just creeped me the hell out.”

It was the truth, in a way. 

I shuddered at the thought of those soulless black eyes and the icy, careless way he’d referred to Melanie Maloney. 

Like she had just been a pawn in some game.  A meaningless life that didn’t matter in his grand scheme of things.

 “What?”  Dustyn’s chest rose and fell as if he were trying really hard to keep his breathing steady.  Anger prickled from him in waves and—believe it or not—I could tell that he was about two seconds from losing his cool.  “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” I insisted.  “Really.  I just…”

I fished around for a good lie.

“I’m just…tired, Dustyn.”

As if that was enough of a reason to run panicked down a hall as if a chainsaw wielding butcher were chasing after me.

His mouth wrinkled.  A likely explanation, I could imagine him reasoning. 

“Being hog-tied does wonders at negating you’re beauty rest.”  I added. “So does being put through the damn Spanish Inquisition.”

He winced.  “Alright…”

His fingers disentangled from my shoulders and we both took a step back at the same time.  He knew he was lying, but he also knew me well enough not to call me out on it.

Somehow in the space of a few days our relationship had been upgraded—from insubordinate punk and pushy, overbearing boss—to something else.  But there was still a line drawn in the proverbial sand that we couldn’t cross.

We had an image to uphold, after all.

 “So…I have your permission to retire, captain?” I asked innocently.

“Hmph.”   I could tell from the way his eyes stabbed into mine that he was not amused.

But what could I say?  Ignoring glaring bits of reality was quickly becoming a forte of mine.