Don't Save Me
Because if anyone could, it was her.
They were in her house watching a black and white movie – that really old famous one that had won a boatload of awards back when it was first released. It was considered a classic. Cara was positively swooning. To her it was a story of true love between a roguish young soldier and a rich society woman. She marveled at the opulent mansions and the ostentatious costumes. She didn't see what he saw – Nought slaves everywhere scurrying around like termites, picking up after their Cross masters. She couldn't feel the rage that consumed him when he saw his people represented in that way – servile, stupid and wretched. To think that that had been a way of life for Noughts only a century ago.
He supposed he should have been grateful. They were no longer slaves, not officially anyway. Segregation wasn't the government policy anymore, though a walk down any street would have shown that it was still the reality. The fact that he could even be here, with this woman, without being arrested or lynched – that was more than any of the people depicted in that film could have dreamed. He was sure they would have thought today's Noughts were living in a paradise.
They'd have been wrong. One hundred years, and this was all that had been accomplished! There were no Noughts in any position of remote power; certainly none that weren't marionettes of their dagger puppeteers. Noughts still lived in crime-ridden, drug-filled ghettos, still had tenth rate education, healthcare and housing. Police still harassed Noughts every single day of the week. Noughts had to work twenty times harder to get even minute recognition. One hundred years ago, Noughts had believed that the biggest obstacle to a better life had been removed. They'd been too blind, too easily placated to see that the real problem wasn't slavery, it was Crosses. And as long as daggers still existed, their lives would always be miserable.
Cara shifted against him and jerked him back to the present. Had she looked up at him, she would have seen his features contorted by disgust and hate. He tried to relax his expression, a little alarmed that his thoughts had been reflected so openly on his face.
Get it together, Jude! he ordered himself harshly. Cara was rubbing off on him. The woman was ingenuous. There wasn't a single thought that crossed her mind that didn't play out in her face. Her eyes were like neon signs, exaggerating every emotion so that it could be seen a million miles away. He was thankful for her naivety, though. It made her much easier to manipulate.
She sighed at a particularly tender scene and he felt her warm breath through his shirt. He glanced down at her and saw the glow from the TV reflected off her long eyelashes. She blinked rapidly several times and Jude wondered if she was about to cry. He wanted to cry too but for an entirely different reason. Two and half hours of this insipid, mind-numbing dribble… She had better be a billionaire for all he was putting himself through.
He continued to stare at her. Somehow the harsh ugly light of the TV managed to gild the curves of her face, making her look oddly ethereal. He could feel one of her hands curled by his side, the other resting on his chest. She had pressed herself against him, and one knee was partly on top of his. This had annoyed him at first but as they'd settled he'd found that he didn't so much mind the invasion of his personal space. He could feel her breathe, just as he was sure she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Her head managed to fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, like it had always belonged there. He had placed his arm around her (stiffly, though) because he knew it was what she expected. He convinced himself that the only reason he was putting pressure on her shoulder, effectively pushing her closer to him, was because his arm had fallen asleep.
His fingers absentmindedly played with the sleeve of her short sleeved sweater. This was the closest he was ever going to get to wearing cashmere, he thought wryly. Where he came from people didn't have clothes like that. He ran his fingers slowly down from her shoulder, taking in the softness of the fabric. Oddly, he kept on going even after he hit the bump of her sleeve. Cara's skin made the cashmere look like cheap carpet. It was supple and smooth against his calloused fingertips, and softer than a whisper. His fingers drew a trail to her elbow and then right back up again. They seemed to be enjoying their sensory adventure and were reluctant to stop.
He shut his eyes and breathed in her scent – jasmine, he knew now. The fragrance swirled into his nostrils, and every muscle in a body he had trained to be constantly tense relaxed. Her face danced across his eyelids. Cara. Sweet, stupid Cara. Cara who was so open, so trusting. The only reason her faith in humanity was still intact was because she had led a charmed life. If she'd gone through even half of what he had, she'd be looking for a rope right about now.
"Steve?"
It took a second for Jude to recognize his alias through the fog of sleep before his eyes flew open. Apparently, the movie was over.
"You fell asleep," she stated softly. There was nothing accusing in her tone but he felt himself stiffen defensively. She felt it too, seeing as she was practically on top of him, but she didn't say a word, just kept staring up at him with those wide brown eyes.
Jude forced a rueful smile onto his usually emotionless face and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I'm a bit tired."
The corner of her mouth lifted in an identical smile. "I have to apologize, too," she said sweetly. "Sometimes I forget that just because it's my favourite movie doesn't mean it's everyone else's."
He furnished her with a quick grin and pretended to yawn so he could collect his thoughts. She slid off of him and sat up, stretching too, then proceeded to lay her chin against the hand that was on his chest. Her gaze was magnetic. Jude would have drowned in those big brown pools of unconcealed affection had he not reminded himself to blink. The silence stretched across several seconds and Jude began to feel uncomfortable. This was a man who'd stared down the barrel of a gun multiple times and kept his cool. He hated that this tiny woman could unnerve him so.
He squirmed and cleared his throat. "Thanks for having me over," he said, needing to fill the silence. He studiously avoided her understanding gaze.
"I'm glad you came," she responded. "Even though you fell asleep like two minutes into the film." She nudged him playfully. "I'd have put on something else if you'd told me."
He only just managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Cara was a nice girl but thick as a post. It didn't matter what they'd have watched; he would have hated it anyway. All the films were dagger-centric and the few that had Noughts portrayed them as buffoons. Mere comic relief. Historical ones were the worst, though, like the one they'd just finished. They tended to be as skewed as the sides of a rhombus. Crosses were always shown to be intrepid explorers, ardent industrialists, the drivers of civilization and progress. Noughts were not-so-noble savages and faceless labourers.
He realized that his heart was thudding furiously in his chest. Thoughts of injustice always did this to him. He focused on the woman before him, ignoring the way the light danced across one side of her face. "I have a confession to make," he told her.
"Oh?" Curiosity shone in her eyes.
"I didn't really come for the movie," he said solemnly. Then his lips spread into a suggestive smile.
Her eyes widened and she bent her head to conceal a demure blush. She tittered. "Oh, you're a smooth one, Mr. Winner."
Even before he realized what he was doing, Jude smashed his lips against hers with such ferocity it made her yelp. She returned his kiss a little more timidly than he. Jude rolled her off him so that she was on her back and he was leaning over her, his left arm supporting his weight. Cara was… she wasn't altogether detestable. Sometimes. Her overly-sanguine personality irritated him to no end but he'd gotten very good at pretending that he liked her.
Maybe too good.
He paused to breathe. She sucked in air gratefully as someone does who's been underwater too long. Jude licked his lips and leaned in again.
"I love you," she whispered against his chin with her fingers still tangled in his dark brown hair.
Jude's entire body stilled. His hot blood cooled in his veins.
"Steve?"
For a moment, it was as if Jude had been locked out of his own brain. Thinking, breathing, moving – he couldn't do any of it.
"I said—"
"I heard what you said!" he snapped with more aggression than he'd intended. His gray eyes were as opaque and hard as steel.
Cara recoiled. Disbelief and hurt clouded her pretty features. She broke eye contact with him and frowned, and she pushed aside his arm so she could get up. He let her do so without protest. In a sinuous series of movements she stood, grabbed the half-eaten bowl of popcorn, flicked on the light and breezed into the kitchen. Her warmth still radiated off the seat but rapidly dissipated in the cool air. She was making a racket in there, throwing dishes so that they clattered loudly against the metal sink. Jude could tell she was angry and humiliated. First he'd fallen asleep, then he'd blanked when she'd told him she loved him.
He still couldn't believe she'd said that. She loved him. The words affected him more than he cared to admit. His mind recalled her face as she pronounced her love: the way she had looked at him, looked into him, a small smile of anticipation curving her mouth. And the way his heart had jumped when she said it, her hot breath writing the words on his skin… No! He shook his head. It wasn't true. Even if she meant it with all her heart it wasn't true. She loved Steve but Steve was a lie. Consequently her words were meaningless.
Jude gritted his teeth and ran a hand over his face. Women were so useless. Why did they have to be so flipping needy all the time? He hated this emotional garbage and if it had been anyone else, Jude would have simply ignored them. But Cara was his big payday. After all the time he'd invested, he couldn't let it fall to pieces now.
He rolled his eyes, pushed his stiff body off the sofa and followed her to the kitchen. He paused and leaned against the doorframe, watching her hunched over the sink. She'd gripped several knives and forks in her fist and bowed her head such that her long braids skirted the surface of the soapy water. To her credit, she wasn't bawling as he'd been afraid she would. Instead, she was muttering under her breath. Jude was sure he heard an expletive and nearly smiled. Cara never cursed.
"Cara?"
She jumped, dropping the cutlery into the sink. The strident noise grated his nerves.
"Steve," she breathed, only half turning. "I didn't hear you."
She pulled out a plate and began to scrub it manically with a brush, desperate to appear normal and unaffected. Jude moved closer. She stiffened when she felt him behind her. He reached forward and forced the frenetic motion of her hand to stop, then guided the plate and the brush back into the sink. Her shoulders were raised tensely. He spun her around and lifted her downcast face to his. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she was having trouble meeting his gaze. He brushed her hair aside, tilted his head, leaned forward, and gently pressed his lips to hers. Cara didn't respond. He felt her warm tears against his own cheeks. He broke away from her and wiped her tears with his thumbs.
He knew what he had to say. And he knew that she would believe it because it was what she wanted to hear. Besides, he had lied to her about everything else; this would just be one more. But he was finding it disconcertingly difficult to form those three words. The last person he had told he loved was his mother and he didn't know how long ago that was. He couldn't remember how those words tasted. It was like a language he'd all but forgotten.
"I—" he began. She twitched, bracing herself for the rest but he couldn't continue. He just couldn't dredge up the phrase. It was buried too deep. He cursed himself inwardly for being such a coward. Three stupid words. Three words, and she would gladly hand over her entire fortune. This was what he was here for, wasn't it? Plus he was actually doing her a favour, he figured. Once he was done with her she'd never let anyone take advantage of her again.
Say it.
"I…I could love you," he whispered throatily.
Wait, that was all wrong! Except it wasn't, he realized with a shudder. He had actually told Cara the truth. For the first time since they'd met, Jude had been honest with her. He could love her, too easily. There were times he found himself forgetting that he was supposed to hate her. The colour of her skin was no longer the first thing that came to mind when he thought of Cara; it was her passion for life, the way she laughed with her whole being, the way she gazed at him like she was seeing him for the first time, the way her hand fit into his. He could love her. And he wanted to.
His chest ached as he realized just how enervated he was. He was so tired of running, hiding, looking over his shoulder. His young soul was worn and tattered, punctured by loss and pain. It begged for peace. Cara could provide that. She was the light that pierced through the cracks in his armour, and he wanted to bathe in it. Driven by desperation, his lips met hers again. Her response matched his in magnitude.
Forget everything. Forget the LM and its never-ending war. Forget Jude Macgregor. For her, he could be Steve Winner. He could… he could…
His eyes flew open. She filled his entire field of vision. He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. Wordlessly, his gaze roamed her face. She stared back at him through unexpended tears. She knit her eyebrows, forming a peak above the bridge of her nose that expressed clearly her state of confusion.
He had to get out of here. He couldn't breathe with her looking at him like that. He had to leave.
His tongue felt like it was covered in lint. He couldn't even formulate an excuse. He just turned and ran, right out of her door and down the street and kept on running. A Cross couple shot him a suspicious look as he passed but he didn't slow down. Those were her people, he reminded himself. She was one of them: Crosses, the people that had taken his family from him. She deserved to die with the rest of them. Familiar black hate snaked throughout his body and smothered Cara's light. The tension and hardness he was so used to returned.
He ran until his lungs burned. He stretched his muscles to their limit and they rebelled, sending him crashing to the ground. He hit the concrete hard, sharp white pain temporarily blinding him as his jaw connected with the pavement. The street was deserted at that hour. There was no-one to help him, no-one to care. He was all alone in the inky black night. He sat up and stared at his grazed palms, streaks of red, red blood running across them. The sting of his scraped chin paled next to the murderous throbbing in his skull. His brain threatened to explode out of his skull. Inadvertent tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. Even so, he relished the pain and the sight of blood. It reminded him of who he was.
He was Jude Macgregor, son of Meggie and the late Ryan Macgregor, brother to the late Lynn Macgregor and the late Callum Macgregor. He was a survivor, an avenger and a freedom fighter. He had one mission and one mission only – to mete out judgment to the dagger scum that had robbed him of everything. Dagger scum that included Cara Imega.
He stood up gingerly. The world swayed before his eyes, but he blinked hard, forced it to steady and then headed towards his hotel, satisfied that he had fully exorcised her from his system. He dug his fingernails into the lacerations in his palms, causing bullets of pain to shoot up into his arms. He had come dangerously close to forgetting his number one rule tonight: Never allow yourself to feel. Feelings kill.
He swore, on the memory of his murdered relatives, never to forget again.