Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (32 page)

It was a simple enough question, but he enunciated the words like he wanted to rip my head off.

“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” I snapped, furious that he’d spoiled the moment.

“It’s no trouble at all. Just tell me what you’d like.”

“I don’t want anything. I’m not hungry. Maybe later.”

“Suit yourself.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I’d better go upstairs now and get the canvas ready so that we can start your portrait.”

He stomped out the room, leaving me wondering what on earth I’d done to deserve this kind of treatment. I just couldn’t figure him out. One minute, he was so sweet and nurturing—and the next, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. What was I doing wrong?

Hugging my arms across my chest, I stood up and went to the kitchen to make coffee. I needed a strong shot of caffeine to help me calm down. As I surveyed the utensils my gaze fell on a long, serrated knife lying on the sideboard. The blade was smooth and spotlessly clean. Picking it up, I realized it was the same knife the skinhead had used to stab Elliot.

Relief washed over me.

Thank god Elliot had taken it for safekeeping. Now at least I knew we were safe from a police interrogation – one less thing to worry about.

Putting the knife down, I reached up to the cupboard above the sink, took two mugs and placed them on the sideboard. Then I scrutinized the coffee machine, wondering how to operate it. There were so many buttons and knobs and levers, I didn’t have a clue where to start.
Why doesn’t Elliot didn’t just buy a kettle, like everyone else?

Glancing at the shelves above the sink, I searched through the bottles of herbs and spices to see where he kept the coffee beans. I couldn’t find them, so I opened the cupboard below the sink and checked there.

“Eureka!”

Standing next to a bottle of fabric softener was a glossy packet of finest Impresso beans. As I reached down for them, I noticed a large black box that the coffee maker had originally come in.
Brilliant
.
Now maybe I can find the instructions and figure out how to operate the damn thing.

I wrestled out the box and set it on the floor. It felt surprisingly heavy. Tearing through the brown tape, I flipped open the lid. My jaw dropped. Inside was dozens and dozens of wallets of all shapes and sizes. I took one out and examined it.

The wallet was made of pink leather and clearly didn’t belong to a man. Flipping it open, I was shocked to see a driving license and a passport photo of a young blond girl.

“Carly Joseph,” I murmured, reading the name out loud. My eyes narrowed. Tucked behind the driving license were multiple debit and credit cards, all in the name of this Carly person.

I felt a sharp jolt of unease. There was something very wrong about this.

With trembling fingers, I reached back inside the box and continued rifling through the other wallets. From the names on the various credit cards and photo IDs it soon became clear that these were stolen items. Either that or Elliot was moonlighting as a lost property collector.
Yeah, right.

“What are you doing?”

I glanced up and saw him towering over me, his face dark as thunder.

Hastily, I dropped the box on the floor and scrambled to my feet. “I-I was just trying to figure out how to use the coffee machine, and I thought I’d …”

“You thought you’d start snooping through my things again,” he finished. In one lightning movement, he snatched the box and flung it back in the cupboard. Then he squared up to me, turning on the full force of his aggression. It was very, very intimidating.

“I’m so sorry,” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Then why do you? Why do you
keep
prying? Again and again and again. Why don’t you respect my privacy?”

A ripple of terror shot down my spine and settled in my stomach. The way he was glaring convinced me that right now he could quite happily murder me and feel no remorse.

Licking my lips, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Look, I said I was sorry didn’t I? What more do you want?”

“A promise that you won’t do it again.”

Fear turned to anger and gave me the courage I needed to stand up to him. “You know what? I’m sick of apologizing. Why should I feel bad? You’re the one who’s got some serious explaining to do. Why the hell do you have other people’s wallets and credit cards? What kind of racket are you running here?”

He lapsed into moody silence, his blue eyes cold and unyielding.

“Tell me!” I shouted. My hands were shaking so much I had to hide them behind my back. I couldn’t let him know how much he terrified me. Right now, the need for answers far outweighed everything else, including my own safety. I just had to know what was going on here.

“Are you sure you really want to know?” he asked ominously.

“Yes!”

“All right. I stole them.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I was dumbstruck. Even though I’d suspected that was the case, it was still shocking to hear him say it. Elliot was a thief? It didn’t seem real.

I stood for a moment, trembling, one hand frozen in mid-air over my throbbing forehead. A thousand crazy thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to absorb the magnitude of this revelation. And then it hit me with gut-wrenching ferocity—something so disturbing it made me sick.

“My god, what did you do to them?” I breathed.

“Do to who?”

“All those people. You stole their wallets. How? Did you hurt them?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

“Then how? I don’t understand. There must be sixty wallets in that box. How did you …”

“Okay, okay. For want of a better word, I’m a pick-pocket.”

“A pick-pocket?”

“Yes. It’s a habit I picked up on my travels. Each day I go out on the street, on the bus, anywhere—and I take people’s wallets without them knowing. I’ve gotten so good at it, they don’t feel a thing. They don’t even realize they’ve been robbed until I’m gone. And you know what? I get a buzz from it. Not good, I know.”

I shook my head incredulously. “I don’t believe this.”

“It doesn’t always happen like that, though,” he continued. “Sometimes I might see a pretty girl in the street. Make eye contact, smile a little. Make out that I want her phone number. But all the while, my fingers are in her handbag.” He bowed his head. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s what I do to survive. It’s how I pay for this house, run my car, buy you nice things. It’s just … something I do.”

I wrenched off my pendant and threw it on the floor in disgust. “Well you can have that back, for a start. I don’t want anything stolen.”

“I didn’t steal it,” he hissed, crouching down to pick it up. “I paid good money for that, I’ll have you know.” He turned it over in his hands, looking at it to inspect the damage.

My eyes darted about suspiciously. “This still doesn’t make sense. There must be more to this than you’re letting on. This apartment and that fancy car of yours must be worth thousands and thousands. How are you able to …?”

“It’s simple. Once I’ve got their credit card details, it’s easy. Basically, I go online and …”

“Actually, I don’t think I want to know,” I interjected, rubbing my temples. “This is sick. How can you sleep at night, knowing you’re living a lie? How can you steal from people and think that’s okay?”

“Of course I know it’s not okay!” he roared. “But like I said, it’s what I’ve got to do to survive.”

“I beg to differ. There are plenty of other ways of making money that don’t involve stealing.”

“Maybe so. But it’s what I know. It’s all I’ve ever known. And it pays well.”

“Don’t give me that! Why didn’t you just go to your parents? If you needed money that badly, I’m sure they would have helped.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? It’s so easy for you to judge. You in your ivory tower, who’s been safe and warm and snug with your family, while I’ve been out there on my own. Alone. Let me tell you something …”

He paused for an instant, his voice twisted with pain. “You don’t know what it means to be so cold and hungry that you’d happily eat leaves and drink rainwater. You don’t know what it’s like to be so weak, so lonely, so dead inside that every day you pray for the end to come swiftly. You don’t know—but I do. And if you were in my shoes, maybe you’d understand that sometimes, just
sometimes
, there is no right and wrong. There is only survival.”

I was momentarily stunned into silence, the full magnitude of his confession finally hitting me.

“Is this what they’ve brought you to?” I asked quietly. “Is this what those creatures turned you into? A liar and a thief? What did they do to you Elliot? You have to tell me.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered darkly. “It’s complicated.”

“
It’s complicated
,” I scowled, mimicking his accent. “You know what? I’m sick of hearing how bloody complicated it is. I’m sick of all the secrecy. Why can’t you just be honest for once? I wanted to give you time because I knew you’d been through a lot. I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it. But this thing with the pick-pocketing—it’s all gone too far, Elliot. If you want me to still support you, then you’re gonna need to tell me everything. And I do mean
everything
. No more lies. No more games!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” he said stubbornly.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Then we can’t be friends anymore. True friends don’t keep secrets from each another. Not secrets like this.”

I pushed past him and stormed into the hallway. With lightning speed, he sprang forward, blocking my path.

“Move out the way, Elliot.”

“No.”

“Come on, don’t make this hard for me. I’ve got to leave.”

“Please don’t go. I need you.”

For long moments, I stared up at him, desire throbbing through my veins, begging me to give in to his pleas. His face looked ridiculously beautiful, his eyes so sweet and mournful they could have melted the coldest heart. But somehow, I managed to fight my desire. Mustering all my strength, I tried to push him out the way, but he was frozen solid, like an obnoxious totem pole.

“What can I do to convince you to stay?” he breathed, mesmerizing me with his delectable lips. “What can I do to change your mind?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I never meant to hurt you, but we can’t go on like this. Unless you tell me the truth, I can’t stay here. It isn’t fair to either of us.”

“Please stay,” he begged, leaning in so close I could smell him. “I’ll do anything you say.
Anything
.”

“Anything?” Closing my eyes, I craned my neck back, subtly tempting him to bring his lips to mine. I waited.

And waited.

I blinked and looked up at him. His face was tilted away from me, a pained expression shadowing his exquisite features. I could sense an inner conflict, something tearing him up inside.

“Anything except kiss me,” I said bitterly. “Well, you’ve certainly made your feelings clear. I think I’ll be going now.”

“Please … you don’t know how hard this is for me.”

“How hard this is for
you
? Have I missed something? Hello, I’m the one getting rejected here. There’s only so much a girl can take, you know.”

“I didn’t reject you,” he said quickly.

For a moment, we held each others’ gaze, neither of us flinching. The raw hunger in his eyes was both a turn on and painfully confusing, all at the same time. He was a paradox of maddening proportions.

“What was that, then?” I demanded. “Did we kiss and I missed it? No, that was a whopper of a rejection if ever I saw one. I didn’t realize I was so repulsive to you.”

He bit down on his fist, visibly trembling. “Stop saying that! Of course I don’t find you repulsive. It’s not that, believe me. You know how much I care about you.”

“Then show me.
Show
me!” Overcome with longing, I sprang forward and tried to kiss him, forcefully pushing my mouth toward his. Gracefully, he disentangled himself from me just before our lips met and sent me sprawling into the front door. Hot tears streamed down my face as I picked myself up.
He’s really done it this time. He’s delivered a blow to my heart that I cannot see myself ever recovering from. He is cruel and sadistic and I hate him!

I hated him so much, I thought I’d die from it.

“Screw you!” I shrieked.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Please, I hope you’re not hurt.”

Without another word, I flung open the door and raced down the hall into the elevator, not stopping until I was safely back in the street. Then, shaking, I glanced behind me, almost expecting him to have followed me. But he hadn’t. Everywhere around me was as dark and desolate as I felt.

Moodily, I crossed the street and trudged toward the bus stop. It must have been around eight, and the few people standing there didn’t seem to notice my tears—and neither did the driver when the bus finally came. I kept my misery to myself, brushing my tears away with my sleeve at regular intervals. I felt like a zombie, operating on autopilot.