Savior Page 11

“One hundred percent. You should’ve heard how excited he was to find out he had a kid brother. I’m sure once things settle down you two will become inseparable.”

  It’s a placation, a kind one, and I can’t help turning my back to Tobias to silently mouth, “Thank you.”

  Luca inclines his head as he moves to the vanity, dumping the items in his hands onto the counter. “Toby, is it okay if I stay in here while you bathe? I’m hoping Penny won’t mind cleaning me up a little bit.”

  “I don’t mind.” Tobias sinks into the bath to lay on his back, the water lapping at his cheeks. “As long as Penny doesn’t.”

  The eyes of an inquisitive stranger stalk me from the reflection in the mirror.

  “Are we still good?” he asks.

  No, not at all.

  Every time I look at him my pulse kicks up a notch. There’s so much fear. So much torment.

  There’s something else, too. Something I refuse to believe is hope.

  The mere thought of the weakness inspires anger. I won’t let that conniving bitch spread her wings inside my chest.

  I have to be tactical. Smart. And if that includes pretending I’m getting close to a stranger, then that’s what I’ll do.

  I suck in a strengthening breath and indicate the counter with a lazy wave of my hand. “Rest back against the vanity and let me take a look at you.”

  9

  Luca

  I do as instructed, turning to face her, resting my ass against the vanity counter.

  I ignore the hesitation in her voice. I shut down all the bullshit in my head telling me to keep my distance. Like an asshole, I pretend pushing her into trusting me isn’t the wrong fucking thing to do.

  She walks toward me, her steps hesitant.

  “Before you get started—” I cross my feet at the ankles. Laid back. Calm. “—this isn’t another attempt to get close so you can attack me, is it?”

  “Maybe.” She reaches my side and opens the vanity cupboards to my right. “Do you think the third time would be the charm?”

  I smirk, appreciating her subtle humor. It’s barely there, her expression remaining tight, but the derision is a starting point.

  “I noticed you cleaned up the mess I made with that device you were carrying.” There hadn’t been any sign of the stabby stick I’d stomped into my carpet. “You kept it, didn’t you?”

  She closes the cupboards and stands tall before me, her silence a blatant answer.

  “Does it still work?” I ask.

  She holds my gaze, a million thoughts ticking behind those big brown eyes. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  Her truth is a gift. A fucking brilliant step in the right direction. “You won’t need it for long. Once things settle, I can get you whatever weapon you want. I can make sure someone teaches you how to use them, too.”

  She licks her lower lip, the flick of her tongue fast, almost agitated. If I had to guess, I’d say she doesn’t appreciate my attempt to build a bridge between us. My kindness scares her.

  “That would be nice.” She fobs me off with the half-hearted acknowledgement and moves to my other side. “Can you shuffle over please? I want to check the drawers.”

  I comply, sliding across the counter. “What are you looking for?”

  “A cloth or something to help clean you up.”

  “You’re not going to find anything in there. All the linen is in the hall cupboard.” I lean forward, cringe against the pounding protest of my skull, and yank off my shirt. “Use this.” I hand over the soiled material. “Douse it in alcohol and it should be fine. I’m going to have to burn it anyway.”

  She doesn’t take the offering. Instead, she retreats a step, her attention riveted on my chest. There’s nothing flattering about the way she looks at me. There’s only trepidation. Undiluted panic.

  Shit.

  I didn’t contemplate the underlying threat she’d see in my exposed skin. Not that I can think much of anything over the dizzying squeeze of my brain.

  “That was a stupid move.” I unfurl the crumpled shirt and prepare to pull it back over my head. “I’ll go find something else to use.”

  “No.” She reaches out, grasping the material, her fingers brushing mine. “I can do this.”

  She keeps her gaze averted from mine as she rinses the material in the sink, the pink tinge of blood seeping into the water. She doesn’t seem to care about the possible diseases my blood could carry. Then again, she didn’t seem to care when Luther was shooting at her either.

  She wanted death.

  Who knows if she still does?

  “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to try and trust me. But there’s no threat to you here.” I murmur the oath softly, not wanting the kid to overhear our conversation. “We want to protect you. Not hurt you.”

  She shuts off the taps, wrings the water from my shirt, then lets the sodden weight fall to the sink. She stands there for silent moments, staring at herself in the mirror, her hands clutching the counter.

  I want to know what she’s thinking. To expose her demons and find a way to slaughter them.

  “What’s eating away at you?” I grab the wet material, and begin scrubbing my face, my neck, my throat, pretending I’m not ready to hang off her every word.

  For a long time she doesn’t answer. Instead, she raises her gaze to mine in the mirror, her fragility coming out to play as I feel her guard lower slightly.

  “When I was growing up, I always thought horrible people were packaged accordingly.” She keeps her voice soft. “I believed bad men were ugly, with easily distinguishable malice. I thought I’d always be able to pick the criminals with horrible intentions because they would look the part. But nothing could be further from the truth. Evil comes with many masks. Some of them more attractive than others.”

  “I agree.” I start rubbing the damp shirt through my hair, the flakes of dried blood dusting the air. “You can’t trust a pretty face.”

  She straightens her shoulders. “Kind words or smooth muscles, either.”

  She’s talking about me. My muscles. My apparent malice.

  “That’s how Luther took me.” She swallows, her tongue snaking out to moisten her lips. “I fell for a kind act and paid the price.”

  “And now you think I’m doing the same thing?” I keep scrubbing my hair, pretending her continued distrust doesn’t get to me.

  “I’m not trying to offend you. I just want you to understand my situation. I know you’ve risked a lot to help me. But until I’m in a place where I feel safe, I’m never going to trust you.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me about this safe place so I can get you there?”

  “I wish I could.” She holds my gaze, her eyes devoid of hope. “I’m not sure it exists anymore. My nightmare will never be over.”

  “Of course it will. The memories will fade with time.” I wince and grit my teeth as I hit a sore spot, the added pain ricocheting through my brain.

  “Give it here.” She holds out a hand for the shirt. “Let me do it.”

  I oblige, the invigorating boost of victory sliding through my veins. She rinses and wrings the material again, then sidesteps to stand in front of me, making sure to leave a generous amount of space between us. With her arm completely outstretched, she starts to wipe the damp shirt over my jaw, my cheek.

  I can’t take my eyes off her. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. She’s fucking beautiful. So beautiful I feel like a prick for understanding why someone would want to steal her. “You can come closer.”

  She doesn’t pause her movements. Doesn’t even acknowledge I spoke. But after a while she shuffles forward, inch by inch, gaining a better vantage point to clean my wound, her bare toes touching the front of my boots.

  She comes close. A breath away. And with each progression the air thickens around us, the atmosphere gaining an edge of trepidation.

  It feels like one wrong move will have the peace of this moment transformed into another attempt on my li
fe, or worse, she’ll retreat into the defensive, resentful woman who grates on my nerves.

  “When I mentioned my nightmare never ending, I wasn’t referring to the mental struggle I’m going to be up against. I was talking about Luther’s men and how they’ll make sure I disappear. They won’t stop looking for me.”

  “They can’t look when they’re dead.”

  “And you’re going to kill them all?”

  “Damn straight.”

  She pauses, sighs, and shakes her head as she stares longingly over my shoulder. “Believe me, the bad guys always win.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I haven’t been one of the good guys for a while.”

  She stiffens. Almost imperceptibly. The next dab of the shirt is a direct impact to my bullet wound.

  “Fuck me, shorty.” I jerk back at the stab of agony. “Can you try keeping the material out of my brain?”

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Sure you did.” I fake a smirk, trying to soften the fear I’ve reawakened in her. Jesus. She’s more skittish than a wild animal. “You’re trying to destroy my tough-guy status, remember?”

  Her lips curve in a barely there smile. It’s almost imperceptible. Entirely subtle. The brief glimpse of happiness reaches her eyes, transforming the cornered wild cat into a blindingly brilliant beauty of a woman. But as quickly as the vision hits, the carefree gorgeousness fades.

  “You need stitches,” she murmurs.

  I stare at her, willing the beauty to return. I want to see that smile again. Bigger and brighter. Cemented in place.

  My dick pulses with compounding need, the perverted reaction enough for me to right the approaching train wreck.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, I figured as much.” I turn my head away to grab the tiny sewing kit I found in the utensils drawer of the kitchen. My idiotic libido is nothing more pain won’t fix. “How are you with a needle and thread?”

  “I guess that depends on how twitchy you’ll be knowing I’m holding something sharp close to your skull.” She takes the kit and opens it up to inspect the contents.

  “I’ve got a pretty thick head. I don’t think a sewing needle will penetrate.”

  Again, I get a brief glimpse of a smile, the curve of her mouth inspiring a more determined pulse from my dick.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Maybe I’m dealing with more than concussion. I must have brain damage. If not, Decker will soon ensure I do.

  But not even the thought of being pummeled to a pulp can deter me from being consumed by her. She’s mesmerizing. From the swell of her lips, to the gentle sweep of her waist, along with everything in between and surrounding.

  She isn’t merely beautiful. She’s beauty itself.

  “I need a chair to get a better vantage point.” She raises to the tips of her toes. “I can’t see properly from here.”

  I don’t hesitate to kneel before her. I want her to know she’s in charge. There’s no threat from me.

  For long seconds she peers down at me, as if understanding the underlying message in my submission. Her tension eases another notch. Her muscles lose their rigidity.

  I win another square in this back and forth board game of ours.

  “I’m not the best at this.” She pulls a needle and thread from the tiny cardboard packet. “I’ve had to give stitches a time or two, but I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to be doing.”

  “I trust you.”

  She pauses, the dark depths of her eyes seeming tortured by my admission.

  “Just try your best. I can promise you, whatever the result, it will be ten times better than the hack job your brother would give me.”

  The mention of her brother snaps her out of the contemplation. Her discomfort returns tenfold.

  She backtracks to the sink, cleans the sewing needle with the liquor, then returns to pour the liquid over my wound, bringing another slap of pain-induced clarity.

  A wet path trails down my neck, my chest, my back. For all I know, I look like an oiled-up stripper on ladies’ night. But I remain on my knees, keeping silent as she begins to tentatively stitch my wound.

  “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

  “I’m good.” I actually want her to quit being gentle and just slaughter the ever-loving fuck out of my skull. Her delicate fingers are only causing more issues. The soft brush of her touch is enough to make me twitch. “Does Tobias always float like that?”

  She nods. “He could lay there for hours. And some days, he does. I think it’s his form of meditation.”

  I lower my voice. “Does he know what happened?”

  Her stitching ceases, her fingers paused on my scalp.

  “He knows.” She leans back to give me a pointed look. “I told him his father’s death was an accident. That despite how confident and capable Luther was with a gun, it didn’t matter when he stumbled around the edge of the sofa and fell.” She shrugs. “He knows his father shot himself with his own gun.”

  I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to dissolve the cease-fire between us by telling her that story won’t hold up for long. Once the shock wears off, the kid is going to realize there were too many gunshots for an accident. It was a fucking battlefield out there.

  Then again, maybe that’s her plan—to appease Tobias’s concerns while he’s here, but make him question Cole later.

  “What about Chris?” I mouth.

  Her face hardens. “He knows the truth about Chris, too.”

  I raise a brow, silently asking what truth she’s referring to.

  “I told him I killed Chris.” She returns to her stitching, tugging the thread harder than necessary, not subtle at all in her request to cut the topic of conversation.

  I don’t push any further. We’ve come a long way in the last hour.

  I’ve seen her hope and glimpsed the tiniest bit of her trust.

  I won’t fuck that up.

  “I think I’m done.” She leans in, inspecting her handiwork. “I just need to cut the thread.”

  I bow my head, giving her closer access. “Just use your teeth.”

  Her breathing hitches. It’s only subtle. The barest hint of sound. And I can’t help wishing I could hear it in a different context. From pleasure, not fear.

  She hesitates long enough for the silence to become awkward. Uncomfortable. I lock every muscle, not wanting the barest twinge to spook her and still she doesn’t move.

  I’m about to straighten when she lunges toward me, the tension on the string pulled tight before a twang announces she’s followed my order.

  Her retreat is swift. The slide of her steps moving toward the vanity, the rush of water letting me know she’s washing her hands.

  I hide a smile from my lips as I drag myself to my feet, making sure to keep my distance as I turn to the mirror. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She doesn’t meet my gaze. Not once as she shuts off the taps and backs away.

  Her visual disconnect doesn’t stop me from staring at her though. I barely drag my gaze away as I take her place at the sink and cup water in my hands to splash over my face and head.

  “You should probably try to keep it dry for a while.” She wipes her hands on her stained pants, keeping her attention downcast. “I don’t know a lot about infection, but I think moisture doesn’t help.”

  “I’ll make sure to do that.” I will her to look at me. To trust me. I do it for so long it seems as though a day passes in the thickened silence until footsteps sound in the distance.

  “Luca?” Cole calls from the bedroom. “Where are you?”

  Penny’s attention snaps to mine, her eyes flaring before she rushes to the tub.

  Fuck.

  “The bathroom.” I grab the towel stashed beneath the numerous T-shirts I brought in for the kid and lob it at her. “Here. Dry him off with this.”

  She catches the plush material and spreads it wide as Tobias splashes to his feet.

  “Don’t panic.” She smiles
at the boy, the expression fake as she wraps him in the towel. “We’re safe, remember?”

  Her rigidity doesn’t fade as Cole comes to stand in the doorway, Hunt and Decker flanking him from behind.

  For a while, nobody speaks. None of them have to. Their visual accusation is loud enough.

  The weight of everyone’s focus shifts from Penny, to my fucking naked chest, the resulting glower from Decker harsh enough to cut stone.

  “I’m told my brother is sick,” Cole grates.

  Penny lasers a frantic glance my way. Those dark eyes are filled with indecision. She’s weighing her options. Wondering if she should trust me or keep forging ahead on her own.

  “He isn’t sick,” I answer for her, holding her gaze. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  She stares at me, the questioning slowly fading from her features, transforming her look into something more threatening.

  The building hardness in her expression is a warning. A blatant you-better-know-what-you’re-fucking-doing. And with this, I do. Without a doubt I know she shouldn’t fuck with Torian.

  “Then why the hell was I told differently?” he asks.

  “It was a miscommunication.” I wipe the lingering moisture from my face with my forearm. “Tobias is fine.”

  “Fine?” Torian’s eyes narrow. “I was told he was in urgent need of medical attention. Isn’t that the story she gave my sister?”

  “Like I said, it was a miscommunication.” I pin him with a stare. With a silent warning I’m not going to budge. “But it doesn’t change the fact her friends are stuck back at your dad’s house. We need to get them out before someone is instructed to dispose of evidence.”

  “They’re my family,” Penny corrects. “Not just friends. They’re my sisters.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Cole scrutinizes her, the slow appraisal moving from head to toe. He’s weighing his options, judging her concern and the worth of her sisters against the risk associated with rescuing them. “Keira is being rather pushy about sending us back to Naxos to get these women. What are your thoughts, Luca?”

  Penny’s focus snaps to me and in an instant she regresses from strong warrior to begging beauty. I could stand here for hours drowning in her silent pleas, the gentle sweep of her lashes, the subtle waver to her breathing.