“Does James Bond wear glasses?”
“If he does, they’re probably x-ray vision. You’ll have to pretend.”
He grinned, the first smile I’d seen on him in a while. “I don’t need x-ray vision. Now that I’ve seen you nak*d, I can picture it real well.”
I rolled my eyes and started going through the bags and sorting stuff. Yep, I’d have to get a whole new wardrobe. And my boots would definitely not do.
Camden walked over to the window and gazed out of it. His broad shoulders and narrow torso made quite a compelling silhouette. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to go gambling?”
“We’ll go tonight.”
“What are we going to do until then?” He turned his head and looked at me.
I shrugged. “There’s a lot to we have to do.”
“We’re going to the pool,” he said, and walked away from the window, brushing past me.
“What? We can’t go to the pool!”
He fished out a wad of cash from his suitcase and put it in his wallet. “Why not?”
“Because. This isn’t a vacation, Camden.”
He folded his arms. “I know it’s not. But we don’t have much else to do and I’m not sitting in the hotel room. Come on, I’m tired and I probably stink. I want a shower, I know you do too. I want to go to the pool for an hour and relax. What’s wrong with that?”
“Uh, everything,” I told him. “We don’t get to relax. We’re on the run.”
“You’ve been on the run practically your whole life,” he said, stepping closer to me.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I think you need to rethink the way you’re doing things. It’s just an hour.”
Now it was my turn to cross my arms. We did have the time. I did feel gross from the day’s journey. It would probably do me good to just try to relax and clear my mind. But, aside from the fact that there’s no way I could relax knowing Javier was out there…I hated swimming pools. It sounds dumb, but when you’ve tried your hardest not to show your deformity in public, you tend to avoid situations where your pants are off. Other than as a child, I’d never even owned a bathing suit.
I looked at the clock on the wall. “Okay, you go down and I’ll join you soon.”
He pursed his lips in suspicion. “You promise?”
I nodded. He snapped his key off the desk and strolled out of the room. Once he was gone, I fell back onto the bed for a few minutes. I didn’t understand how Camden could be so relaxed about everything. Lying by the pool? How the hell could you lie by the pool when you knew there were men looking for you? I mean, they weren’t looking for him specifically, but still.
I started to get anxious again. What if he was acting all cool because he was setting me up? What if he asked me to go to the pool on purpose? He knew about my scars. He knew I wouldn’t do it. He knew I wouldn’t come down. What if he was planning something with Javier right now? I’d be a sitting f**king duck.
“I’ll show you,” I said out loud. I grabbed my purse and everything I needed to run then headed out the door. After the elevator and walking through half the hotel, I found the level for the pool and stormed out into the overbearing sunshine. It was so damn white I felt like I was in my own hell disguised as heaven. The waitresses were in white, the towels were white, the chairs were white. The pool was such a pale blue that even it seemed white. My eyes were burning until I slipped on my shades.
It was a big area with lots of pools to choose from. I had no idea where Camden could be or if he was even there, but it was worth checking first. I stayed along the wall where the change rooms were, observing everyone—buff frat boys, fat tourists, screaming children, bachelorette parties. Finally I spotted him on the opposite side of the largest pool. He was alone and reading a book, although a few chairs down there were a bunch of bodacious blondes who were tanning their oiled asses. He kept sneaking glances at them and I choked back the streak of bitterness that zipped through me. Now I was jealous of any girl Camden looked at? I was officially going insane.
I decided to chance it. I walked around the pool, as casually as possible, as if most women in Vegas wore combat boots, jeans and a slightly dirty tank top to go sun-tanning.
I stopped in front of his chair, unabashedly admiring his physique under the security of my sunglasses. Fuck, damn. He looked good. And those bikini babes he kept glancing at, well they were certainly checking him out, too. When they saw me, they glared a little. I glared right back. Too bad they couldn’t see it.
“Hey,” I said to him.
He slowly tore his eyes from his book, a new hardcover of Neil Gaiman’s latest, and broke into a grin when he looked up. I nearly melted. It was hot out.
“I hoped you would come,” he said, patting the chair beside him. I smiled a bit too smugly for the other girls’ benefit, and with that same smile, did a quick sweep of my surroundings. So far, so good. No one walking toward me like T-1000.
I hovered for a second, watching a bead of sweat travel down the ridge of his abs before sitting down. He picked up a plastic shopping bag and placed it in my lap.
“That’s for you,” he said.
I peered inside. ”What is it?”
“Take it out and look.”
If it was a bomb, I was going to be very upset.
“I bought myself some swim shorts since I forgot to pack any. I knew you probably didn’t own a swimsuit.”
I held it in my hands like it was a baby (and, just for reference, I hold babies like they are snakes). It was a bikini, pale yellow with adjustable triangles. Not the most modest-looking thing but it had more coverage than the bikini babes. I’d never wear it in a million years.
I smiled tightly, trying to coax out some appreciation. “It’s lovely, Camden. But I don’t think I’m going to go swimming.”
I began to put it back in the bag but he suddenly reached over and grabbed my wrist. Hard. I’d been fearing the bikini when I should have been fearing him.
“You can’t just sit here in your jeans and boots, Ellie,” he said. He was startlingly serious.
“Yes I can,” I told him. My eyes darted around. His tone was making me more nervous.
His grip tightened and I tried to pull back but he held me in place. He leaned over and pulled down his sunglasses. “You’re wearing the bathing suit. There’s no reason for you not to.”
I frowned at his hand over my wrist. “Yes, there is a very good reason,” I hissed, “and you know exactly what it is. You tried with the mini-skirt, and this definitely isn’t any better.”
“You need to get over your fears. You need to stop caring what people think,” he said.
“I don’t have to do a single thing you say,” I shot back.
He jerked me toward him and I let out a gasp. He didn’t hurt me but he was acting irrational. I looked around to see if anyone had seen. The bikini babes were sitting up and watching us with concern. I might need their help after all.
He leaned into my face and peered at me, searching for something and being angered by what he found. “You have to do everything I say. I don’t care if it was your idea to leave Palm Valley, your idea to come here, your ex-boyfriend who is coming after you. You keep forgetting that you’re really here because of me. You keep forgetting that I own you.”
So this was what this was about. I matched his look and leaned in closer. “You think you own me? You only own my fate. You don’t own me right here, right now,” I snarled.
Then I suddenly yanked myself back and he let go. I kept my eyes on him, afraid to look away, but I could hear the girls whispering anxiously. I didn’t blame them. It’s never fun to see a couple fighting. And we weren’t even a couple.
I stood up, bundling the bikini in my hands.
He glared up at me. “You’re so afraid, Ellie Watt. You’re afraid to show the world what you’re really like. You’re afraid to come to peace with your scars, because the minute you do, the minute you accept them, you have to let go of your anger. You have to let go of your quest. And then who would you be?”
I didn’t know.
“Fuck you,” I said, throwing the bikini in his face. The tears were almost breaking through and I hated myself for them. I hated myself for yelling at him in public but I couldn’t help it. “Is that what you meant by trying to humiliate me? Is this what you need to make things even?”
Before he could do anything but stare at me, mouth agape, remorse in his brow, I turned and ran away with a sob. I couldn’t stop the tears now. They’d been building for too long. I ran past the white wall of lawn chairs, people turning to look and see. I ran onto the posh interior level with its small food court and all the way to the elevator.
I tried to swipe my card to enter in my floor, but time and time again, nothing would happen. I sank to the floor as the tears blurred my vision until two elderly ladies came inside. They inserted their cards and one of them kindly asked me. “What floor are you on, dear?”
I squeaked out “Seventeen” and they punched in the number without asking a single question. Bless their hearts.
On my floor I staggered out and went straight to my room, my card working again. I made it to the bed then collapsed into a fit of tears. I cried for all my wrongs that were never righted. I cried that I couldn’t just live with the wrongs and find my peace with them. I cried for the childhood I never had, for the future I was robbed of. I cried for my parents, who I knew did love me in their own way, which made not having them around even harder to take. I cried for always being alone, for never having a vacation, for not knowing who I truly was.
I cried until there was nothing left in me to cry. And when I was weakened, exhausted by the tears and anguish, that’s when Camden came in the room.
He walked slowly to me and sat on his bed.
He waited a few moments before whispering, “Ellie?”
I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t.
“Ellie,” he said again, “I have an idea that might help you find peace.”
If he was asking me to meditate, he had another thing coming.
“It will hurt. But the results will be beautiful. More beautiful than they already are.”
That was strange enough to make me raise my head and look. He looked solemn, eyes red, hands clasped in front of him. “I’d be improving on your beauty, finding the pattern in the chaos. Making you feel proud of what you’ve become.”
I wiped my nose with the comforter. Totally unattractive. “What are you talking about?” I asked hoarsely.
He went to his stuff and when he came back, he was holding a small silver case. He clicked it open and showed it to me. It was like the briefcase full of his tattoo gear, but smaller. It just had the gun, a couple of needles, ink caps, gloves and carbon papers, plus a couple of items I didn’t recognize.
“A mini-tattoo kit,” he said. “I made it a few years ago, decided it was the kind of thing I should keep in the glove compartment. You never know when there’s a tattoo emergency.”