Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Clenching his fingers into fists, Dragon kept his feet planted right where they were so he didn't go storming into the bathroom.
Cassandra was crying in there.
She wasn't making a sound, but he could smell her tears, the scent hanging heavily in the air, demanding that he do something about it.
But what could he do?
Barreling in there was only going to make her angry. Already, she’d made it clear that she wasn't happy about him being back in her life for any reason and she was tolerating his presence only so she didn't bring trouble to any of her brothers’ doorsteps.
At no point last night had she turned to him for comfort.
She’d accepted his help with first aid, allowed him to sit beside her while she gave a statement to the cops, answered questions, and was treated by the paramedics.
In the car on the drive to the motel, she hadn't spoken a single word, not even asking one of the dozens of questions he’d been expecting.
Dragon hated it, he wanted her trust even though he didn't know what to do with it.
And there lay the problem. He didn't know what he wanted beyond Cassandra no longer hating him. He wanted her to look at him the same way she used to, but he didn't know if he could ever give her what she’d once wanted from him.
So he stood there, staring at the bathroom door like it was offensive to him, when it was really himself that he loathed, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was another thirty minutes before the water in the bathroom finally shut off.
Another fifteen by the time the door opened, and Cassandra stepped through it.
Her long chestnut brown locks were still wet, and she’d twisted them into a braid that hung down her back.
She was wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas in a pretty shade of soft pink.
The skin on her face was tinted pink, and the dark circles beneath her eyes looked even darker, even as her eyes were red from tears.
Taking a step toward her wasn't a conscious thought on his part, he just had to be near her, had to offer her some sort of comfort, even as he had no idea the best way to comfort a traumatized woman.
“Don’t,” she whispered, taking a step back.
Hurt lanced his chest. Just because he knew she was angry with him didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell that she couldn’t even stand to have him near her.
Was that fear he saw dancing in the green depths of her eyes?
What the hell?
Was she scared of him now because he’d killed someone in front of her? She had to know all he’d done was eliminate a threat. He hadn't tortured the man, even though he’d wanted to because the need to get to her, check on her, protect her was stronger.
Feigning disinterest, he nodded at her arm as he pointed to her legs. “You took a shower, pretty sure you weren't careful to keep your wounds dry. I need to dry them and rebandage them so you don’t have problems with them healing.”
That was all true, but it wasn’t what he cared about most right now, it was just an excuse.
The need to touch her was overwhelming, and he was beginning to understand how Steel had felt when they had Rose locked in the cell in the basement.
How the hell had his friend managed to hold it together when they strung Rose up and whipped her to make a video to send to her brother?
With a weary sigh that said she’d rather be anywhere than near him right now, Cassandra gave a small nod, and walked over to perch on the edge of the bed.
Impotence raged inside him. Cassandra was hurting, and he couldn’t just make things better for her.
There was no magic answer. No way to wave a wand and eliminate the danger now swirling around her.
No way to turn the clock back and return to when Cassandra first discovered they had plans to use someone to reach the man responsible for changing them, and listen to what she had to say, explain to her why they were so desperate.
If he could make it so she no longer hated him, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Instead, he grabbed the first aid kit he’d brought with him from Cassandra’s house and approached her. When he knelt before her, he noticed how her pulse picked up, but when his gaze met hers, it wasn't fear he saw swimming in those pretty eyes of hers, it was pain.
Pain that hit him so hard, his hands actually shook as he rolled up the leg of her pants so he could get to the wound. The bandage that had been placed there by the EMTs was gone, he assumed she must have taken it off in the bathroom, and the skin around the stitches was wet and soggy.
Pushing to his feet, he went into the bathroom, grabbed the towels Cassandra hadn't used, and returned with them to the bedroom.
Kneeling once again beside where his little rabbit was sitting, watching his every move with a detachment he didn't like one little bit, he wrapped the towel gently around her calf.
One thing he’d quickly realized about Cassandra when she first came to stay with them was that everything she did, she did with her whole heart. She’d been hurting, doing her best to come to terms with the revelation of her paternity, but there had still been an openness to her.
Now it felt like she was shutting down, and he had no idea how he was supposed to reassure her it wasn’t necessary. She was the light in the Charleston Holloway family, and they needed her even if she didn't see that.
When she tensed as he pressed gently against her wound, Dragon began to massage the back of her calf to try to relieve the tightness there. As his fingers worked her muscles, he felt Cassandra slowly relax.
Long past when he knew the wound was dry, he stayed right where he was, holding the towel pressed to the cut, massaging her tight muscles, content to soak up this small moment with the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
These small moments were all he’d have left with her.
Even if she agreed to come and stay with him and his team, it wouldn't be the same as it had been before.
As badly as he wanted to go back and redo things, he couldn’t, and he hated that.
He wanted things to be like they’d been before.
A soft, almost content sigh fell from Cassandra’s lips, and when he glanced up at her, he saw that her expression had relaxed somewhat. She even gifted him a small smile. “Thanks, that feels good. I didn't realize how tense my muscles were.”
“You're welcome.” The words came out somewhat stiffly, but the tightness in his chest eased, and he felt like he’d just inched his way a little closer to Cassandra even though he still felt the emotional distance between them.
Setting the towel down, he grabbed a clean bandage and wound it around Cassandra’s leg, before pulling her pant leg back down. Then he rose to sit beside her on the bed, ready to dry off her smaller wound.
“Umm, I'm not wearing anything under here,” Cassandra said when he grabbed the hem of her pajama top.
“Then we’ll just slip your arm through the sleeve.” Circling his fingers around Cassandra’s wrist, he gently eased her arm out, stretching the material so it did most of the work to minimize her pain.
Patting the gash on her arm until it was dry, Dragon could feel Cassandra’s watchful gaze on him, but he refused to meet it, almost scared of what he would find there.
Judgment, he was sure. Cassandra believed he was a monster, something he’d known since he was old enough to figure out who and what his family were. Unlike the rest of his team, he had always been a monster. He hadn't been created by Dr. Gardner and the experimental drugs they were injected with.
With those probing eyes on him, it felt like he was being flayed open, all his secrets exposed, even as he knew there was no possible way Cassandra could know he was a mafia heir who had thrown away the future mapped out for him, one he’d never wanted, and instead enlisted in the military.
After enlisting, he’d never left the base, knowing it was the one place his family couldn’t get to him.
His entire life, he’d been a prisoner to someone.
First, his family, then the military, then the crazed scientist, then hiding for his own safety.
He’d never been free, didn't know how to live without anything tying him down, but Cassandra made him want to find out what it was like.
“You should get some rest,” he told her briskly as he slipped her arm back into her sleeve, then stood to pull back the covers.
“Hmm, yeah, sleep,” Cassandra mumbled with a yawn, and he helped her scoot back then lie down.
As he pulled the covers up to tuck her in, he couldn’t help but let his fingertips trail across her shoulder.
Now he could understand Steel’s obsession with Rose, his need to have her close, to touch her at every opportunity.
Cassandra was right in front of him, but it wasn't enough.
He wanted her in his arms, wanted to bury himself inside her, wanted to tie her to him so she could never leave.
His ruthless parents hadn't broken him, special forces training hadn't broken him, Dr. Gardner hadn't broken him, but somehow it felt like a five-foot-three, green-eyed, brunette held the power to shatter him within her hands, and she didn't even know it.
January 5th
3:42 P.M.
A few hours of sleep seemed to change everything.
Cassandra had woken up this afternoon with a clearer head and her emotions back in check.
At the back of her mind, a tiny little voice whispered that maybe it wasn't the sleep that changed things.
Maybe it was the care and attention Dragon gave her last night. His large hands had been so gentle as they dried her wounds and massaged the tight muscles in her leg. It hadn't just been the soft touches that had warmed something inside her, it was the look in his eyes while he was doing it.