CRIMSON DEBTS Chapter 12
Chapter 12: The Debt of Skin
The morning air was crisp, smelling of pine and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Kaelen sat on the rotting wood of the porch, clutching the moth-eaten wool blanket around his waist like a shield.
He was the man people whispered about in dark alleys-the "Enforcer"-yet here he was, reduced to a trembling mess because a boy with paint-stained fingers was scrubbing his silk boxers.
Every time Julian's knuckles moved against the stone, Kaelen felt a fresh wave of heat crawl up his neck.
"Are you... are you not done yet?" Kaelen rasped, his eyes fixed firmly on a distant pine tree. "It's a small piece of fabric, Thorne. You've been at it for ten minutes. Or are you doing this on purpose now?"
Julian paused, his hands submerged in the soapy water.
He looked over his shoulder, a mischievous glint breaking through the exhaustion in his eyes.
"Doing what on purpose, Kaelen? Appreciating the quality of the silk?
Or realizing that even a cold-blooded killer has a preference for designer labels? "
"Julian," Kaelen warned, though the threat was hollowed out by a sudden cough that made him wince.
"I'm being thorough," Julian said, turning back to the bucket with a small, hummed laugh. "Blood is stubborn. Just like the man who spilled it. If I leave a stain, you'll probably find a way to make it my fault once you can walk again."
Kaelen gritted his teeth, his face turning an even deeper shade of crimson. He had never felt so utterly stripped of his power. He watched Julian's back-the way his spine curved as he worked, the focus in his shoulders.
The silence stretched, turning heavy. Kaelen's embarrassment slowly shifted into a cold, nagging confusion. He looked at the dense forest surrounding them. There were no guards here. No GPS. No Thorne syndicate eyes.
"Why?" Kaelen's voice was barely a whisper.
Julian stopped scrubbing. "Why what?"
"Why didn't you run?" Kaelen asked, his gaze finally dropping to Julian's profile.
"I was unconscious for hours. You had the keys.
You know the city isn't that far if you head south.
You could have left me to rot in that bed and been halfway to another state by dawn.
Why stay and... and wash my clothes? Why heal me? "
Julian stood up slowly, wiping his wet hands on his thighs. He walked toward the porch, the bucket splashing at his feet. He sat down on the step just below Kaelen, not looking at him, but looking out at the same trees.
"I thought about it," Julian admitted softly.
"I looked at the car keys on the table. I looked at the woods.
But then I looked at you. You jumped in front of those bullets, Kaelen.
You didn't do it because of the debt or because my father owes you money.
You did it because..." Julian trailed off, shaking his head.
"I don't leave people behind. Not even the ones who kidnap me. "
The Tension of the Wound
"Don't be a martyr," Kaelen muttered, though his heart hammered against his ribs. "It's a bad look on you."
"And being a grumpy invalid is a bad look on you," Julian retorted. He stood up and reached for the hem of his own shirt. With a sharp, decisive movement, he pulled the fabric over his head.
Kaelen's breath hitched. He tried to look away, but his eyes were betrayed by his own curiosity.
Julian was lean, his skin pale and glowing in the morning sun, his muscles defined but graceful-an artist's body.
Julian didn't hesitate; he gripped the collar of his shirt and rrip, tore a long, wide strip of cotton from the bottom.
"What are you doing? That's your only shirt," Kaelen said, his voice dropping an octave.
"You're bleeding through the yarrow mash," Julian said, stepping up onto the porch. He moved between Kaelen's parted knees, standing so close that Kaelen could feel the heat radiating from Julian's bare chest.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The embarrassment was gone, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension. Julian leaned in, his hands steady as he began to unwind the old, blood-soaked bandages from Kaelen's shoulder.
Kaelen's head was level with Julian's stomach. He could see the slight tremor in Julian's breath, the way his skin rippled with the cold morning air. Being this close, shirtless and vulnerable, Julian felt less like a "pawn" and more like a force of nature.
Julian leaned closer to inspect the wound, his chest nearly brushing Kaelen's nose. The scent of lye soap and sweat filled Kaelen's senses. He felt a sudden, violent urge to reach out-to grab Julian's waist, to pull him closer, to see if his skin was as soft as it looked.
"You're staring," Julian whispered, his fingers brushing Kaelen's collarbone as he tucked the new bandage in place.
"I'm making sure you don't mess it up," Kaelen lied, his voice thick.
Julian finished the knot, his hands lingering on Kaelen's good shoulder. He looked down, meeting Kaelen's dark, intense gaze. For a second, the forest disappeared. There was only the sound of two hearts beating too fast for the quiet morning.
"There," Julian said, his voice trembling slightly. "Cleaned and bound. Try not to bleed on the silk. It took a lot of work to get it that way."
Julian stepped back, but the heat stayed behind, burning into Kaelen's skin more than the bullet ever had.