20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Finn couldn’t remember ever feeling this at ease. In the back of his head were whispers—reminders to check the windows, to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps—to re-check the room for listening devices. It all felt like a distant, non-immediate concern.
All of his focus was on the sensation of Kathleen’s fingers as they drew slow, lazy paths over his head, trailing through his hair. He couldn’t predict what she would do next: would she brush her fingers over his crown and twirl the ends of his hair in her fingers? Would she coil her fingers near his ear, tucking the hair back? He couldn’t anticipate, but instead of being on edge, it built a lazy coiling of anticipation in his gut, a need that was met over and over as her fingers roved. He couldn’t say why, but it felt familiar. It felt safe.
“I could cut your hair,” Kathleen said softly. “So it doesn’t fall into your eyes all the time.”
The words were like an instant dash of cold water. All his senses came alert. Finn could smell the faint scent of coconut and gunpowder he associated with her. He could hear the neighbors arguing about visiting their son at college. He did a mental calculation of the exits in the room, how many steps, and the layout behind that.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Finn.” Kathleen must have noticed the change in his mood despite his lack of a verbal answer. “Okay? You have a choice. With me, you always have a choice.”
It wasn’t like Finn was attached to his hair. He didn’t even mind if she wanted to cut it. His hair was a thing without meaning. Yet the idea of being unable to hide behind it made him feel instantly exposed. The Handler would see Finn clearly when he stood in front of him. He would be vulnerable. Exposing a weakness. How could he explain all that to her?
“I don’t want to,” Finn said, tense and ready for the consequences.
All Kathleen did, however, was smile. “Okay.”
Her fingers resumed their slow path over his head.
Finn waited, and nothing happened. No suggestion of being defective. No anger or disappointment at his defiance. Just acceptance.
Kathleen’s fingers slowed, and his heart squeezed. She was going to make him leave. She would realize he wasn’t normal and that she should be scared of him, like all the rest. He tensed in readiness.
“I need you to know if you ever want or need me to stop whatever is happening, you can just say so. And if you can’t say it, then touch me here.” Kathleen placed his hand on her shoulder, her fingers pressing his briefly. “Squeeze, and I’ll know. You never have to explain why.”
There was a stinging in his eyes. Finn blinked quickly, but it wouldn’t disperse. He tried to speak, to answer her kindness in some way, but a lump in his throat prevented any noise. He clenched his fingers, trying to focus on the sensation of his balled hands as he brought them to his face, but almost immediately, he felt a trail of wetness slide down his cheek.
Kathleen bent forward, her hair throwing them into darkness. He felt the softness of her lips against his forehead as her hand resumed its soothing route over his hair. His eyes continued to sting as he squeezed them shut, his heart tightening.
This was weakness. Finn couldn’t show emotion. The Handler would… would what? It was silent in his head, no whispering threats issued.
He didn’t deserve someone like her. Didn’t she know he was a monster? He was the Hound. He deserved fear and hatred, not this gentle soothing, not the warmth that stirred his heart as her lips soothed over his forehead, his balled fists, and his wet cheeks.
She was an impossibility. A balm to his soul.
Finn didn’t deserve her, but he didn’t dare leave. He pulled her closer, his fists loosening to curl into her shirt and her hair as the tears fell freely and a shuddering racked through his body.
Images assaulted him. A multitude of people—faces. He barely knew who most of them were. He knew every single one of them was a person whose life he had taken, though. Some were little more than an impression: a woman with black hair, a man with olive skin and terrified blue eyes. Others felt recent and present, like the Asian woman in the Imperial Silk Palace, startled and then afraid as he pointed his gun at her.
He had felt nothing when he did it, but now he felt the weight of that choice pushing all breath out of his body.
And he wept.
His awareness of his surroundings had narrowed to the feel of his hands on her and where her lips touched him. The expected whisper of the Handler, warning him to be alert, didn’t manifest. Instead, as the last of the sobs left him, there was just the soft humming from Kathleen. He recognized it as the music she had played the previous night.
When she fell silent, his mind felt calmer.
Kathleen’s hand stroking over his forehead and into his hair was like an anchor. When she spoke, her voice was a soft murmur, “What do you want to do, Finn? I can put on some music if you like. Or we can eat some of the pastries I bought. Trust me, it’s a better idea than me trying to cook.” Her laughter felt like it was chasing away some of the dark shadows of half-remembered specters from his mind. “Or you can have a bath. I always feel better after a bath. Don’t let anyone know, but I have a dozen different bath bombs.”
Finn knew. He had perused her entire condo. Was it strange to want those things? For her to hide them? He had no idea. He didn’t want to choose. He wanted her to tell him what she wanted him to do. The choice felt impossible—he didn’t feel a draw to any of them—but the animation in her voice made him want to make a choice. His lips parted, but to voice a want felt too vulnerable.
Kathleen’s green eyes caught everything in his expression. “How about a bath,” she said, “And I can wash your hair?”
That sounded good. He wanted it. Maybe it could be as easy as that. He nodded once.
Her bright smile made his heart tighten. “All right,” she said. “Maybe you can get some air while I run a bath?”
She could read him like a book. Finn wanted to make sure they were safe. He wanted. So why couldn’t he? Kathleen’s patient expression said he could. “I want to,” his voice felt scratchy, his throat constricted. “I want to look around. Make sure everything is safe.”
Something passed over Kathleen’s expression too fast for him to read or comprehend. Her tiny smile allayed any fear. “All right. I left the key on the kitchen bench—not that I think you need it.”
Finn didn’t. He had his lock picks on him, his weapons—everything he needed. He released his grip on her, sitting up. He felt the loss of that contact like a physical thing, an ache to return to that moment. He tipped his head forward, letting his hair fall forward rather than risking her seeing.
She was watching him. He could see it from the periphery of his vision. He counted four heartbeats before she rose and walked into the bathroom. He heard the water running.
Finn stood and went to the window to check possible sniper perches. They were empty, but he pulled the curtains closed anyway.
He left the apartment and climbed the stairs, using his phone to loop the cameras. On the rooftop, he paced the edges, checking nearby rooftops for any sign of snipers or watchers. It was windy up here, the gray, overcast sky threatening rain.
Downstairs in the parking garage, the car was untouched. Two cars that had been there when they arrived were now gone, and one new one was present. He noted the number plate as he slipped outside and walked the nearby perimeter.
It was a quiet Sunday morning, and most of the traffic around the area was in vehicles rather than on foot. As Finn walked, he let his senses relax, open to the tiniest suggestion of any threat. On the way back to the building, he took in the number plates of all the vehicles parked within a block radius.
When he stepped into the apartment, he noted the water had stopped running. A mix of scents hung in the air. The soft, steady beat of Kathleen’s heart allayed a second of fear, and he walked into the bathroom, drawn to her. She was adding the contents of a bottle to the bath that jolted a brief memory of cake—there and gone.
The mix of smells was heady, almost too much. “Did you bring all this? That’s highly impractical.”
Kathleen threw a smile his way, the flicker of relief in her eyes apparent enough that even Finn noticed it. Did she think he wouldn’t come back? “It’s okay to have nice things. Things that only exist to make you feel better. I thought I might need it, but I think you need it more. It has a bit of everything, really.” She searched his face. “Everything okay?”
Finn nodded. Her gaze lingered, so he added, “It’s safe.”
“Good. I’ll let you get settled in.” She nodded to the water. “And I’ll come back to wash your hair.”
Her footsteps retreated, softer on the carpet, but with his sharp hearing, he could track her path from the bed to the window. A shiver of anticipation went through him at the promise of her touch. He unzipped his jacket, hesitating, unsure what to do with all his weapons. Finn’s training warred inside him. He wanted the weapons close at hand, but he didn’t want to unsettle her with all of them laid out within arm’s reach, as was his routine. Would it even unsettle her? He thought not, but it felt uncomfortable to let that show.
Finn compromised by placing his guns on the closed toilet seat and draping his jacket over it. The knife he laid on the edge of the bath before he stepped in. The water was piping hot, prickling his skin as he sank beneath the surface, the bubbles displacing around him. The scent of it was strong but not at all unpleasant, and as he eased back, he could feel bubbles ghosting over his skin like a thousand tiny gentle touches.
If this is what bubble baths were always like, he decided he had been missing out.
Though his eyes were closed, he could hear her approach—hear her pausing in the doorway to the bathroom. For all the abilities conferred on him by Command, Finn couldn’t read thoughts, and he had never wanted to until now. He could, however, hear the slight speeding of her heartbeat that told him she was looking at him—or maybe at the knife nearby.
Finn cracked one of his eyes open the smallest amount possible. Kathleen was definitely staring at him, not the weapon—he could see her gaze ticking over his chest and further down, where the water and the bubbles masked the rest of him. Her full lips were parted, and the warmth in her gaze was unmistakable, even to him. She had thrown her hair into a messy bun on her head while she was gone. He was frozen in the compelling desire to immediately pull her hair free of the clasp it was in, to tangle his hand into her hair, and to pull her into the bath with him.
His cock instantly began to harden.
He was grateful for the obscuring bubbles. She wouldn’t be looking at him the way she was if she knew his reaction and what he wanted to do to her. It was nearly impossible not to think of the idea of her naked skin, slick with the same water that surrounded him, her weight pressed against him, his lips on hers…
Finn was getting impossibly hard, and soon, even the bubbles wouldn’t hide it. Above all, he couldn’t scare her. He wanted more, but he wasn’t willing to risk frightening her, and he’d take every second of attention she was willing to give him, no matter how small. He eased himself into a seated position to hide his increasing distraction.
Was it his imagination, or did Kathleen start like she was embarrassed at being caught staring at him? The thought—the idea she might want him—was so compelling that he couldn’t find any words. Only stare at her in an attempt—failed and foiled—at figuring out what she was thinking.
“Are you—" There was a slight crack in her voice, “—ready?”
He was, very much so. All he could manage was a nod.
Kathleen reached over him to the shower caddy that hung from the taps. Before Finn could think, his hand lifted and settled at her side, just above her hip. He had the fleeting thought that with a slight pressure in the right direction, she’d fall in and… and…
It was the rest of it he was unsure about. He noticed her eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do. He didn’t detect fear in her features, but he couldn’t tell whether the tilt of her head was encouragement or dissuasion.
“Are you trying to distract me, Finn?” Her smile grew wider as she straightened. “Because you’re doing a good job of it.”
His hand fell from her side, but his eyes tracked her as something deep in his stomach fluttered. She settled on the edge of the bath, pouring a handful of shampoo into her palm, and then she laughed. It was that same warm sound that rushed over him, soothing and delightful.
“I can’t wash your hair if you’re looking at me,” she said.
Finn wanted to drink in every part of her. Though reluctant to turn away from her, he obediently bent his head forward. He felt her fingers in his hair.
It was not quite the same as earlier. He felt the coldness of the shampoo, the deliberate massage of her fingertips as she ensured the liquid was spread evenly. He found his eyes closing, focusing on the sensation of her fingers massaging his scalp.
“Finn,” she said. “Did you fall asleep?”
He hadn’t, but it was like a trance had come over him. His eyes fluttered open. She was smiling at him.
“Rinse?” she said, gesturing to the water.
Ah. This would be awkward. He eased forward, bending his knees as he let his head fall under the water. All sound dulled, and he felt the gentle touch of her fingers on his head again before a slight pressure from her urged him upward.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Yes,” Finn agreed, looking at her.
Kathleen’s lips parted, and he thought he saw a flush of heat beneath her skin. “I think you’ve got the rest. I’ve left some clean clothes on the sink. Take your time. If you want more hot water, it’s this one.” She pointed at the tap.
He watched her go. Finn wanted to call her back. But there was a more pressing need. The door clicked closed behind Kathleen, and his hand slipped under the water, curling around his still-hard cock. He closed his eyes, leaning against the edge of the tub. As he stroked his cock, he imagined it was Kathleen leaning over, gripping him tightly. He imagined her smile, her whisper in his ear.
A noise escaped his lips before he could catch it. He stroked faster, hoping she couldn’t hear but needing to finish this. He couldn’t focus on anything else. The pressure built, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning aloud until the sensation intensified, and he came. He continued to stroke his sensitized cock, sighing with relief.
Maybe now he could focus on her without getting distracted.