Chapter 20 The Key #2
“Daisy.”
Her breath stilled in her lungs.
He knew her name? How?
Rather than explain, he looked at her with fraying patience. “You’re injured, freezing, and filthy. I’m trying to help you.” When she still didn’t move, he looked away in frustration, then looked back at her with resolute determination in his stormy eyes.
It was enough to drive her to her feet.
He pointed to the alcove that led to the bathroom. A silent command.
She took a step, ignoring the way the soles of her feet burned from countless cuts. He didn’t approach her. Didn’t crowd her. He simply waited, giving her space to move at her own pace.
The blanket dragged behind her like a train as she hobbled forward, each step sending fresh jolts of pain up her calves. Despite the agony of each step, she kept as much distance as the room allowed between them.
He stepped back when she approached the doorway, letting her pass, but then came up behind her, trapping her in.
The bathroom stole her breath.
Black marble stretched across the floor, warm beneath her ravaged feet.
A massive copper tub sat before a wall of windows that overlooked a private garden, its surface already shimmering with steaming water.
Torches burned from candelabras on the walls, casting shadows over luxury.
Glass bottles crowded a silver tray beside the tub, their contents promising secrets she couldn’t read.
“Go on.” He stood in the doorway behind her, his nearness a weight against her spine.
Her gaze met his in the mirror. Was he going to leave or just stand there?
He didn’t move.
When she tightened the blanket around her in defiance, he walked past her toward another alcove and reached inside. Water burst from a rainfall showerhead, filling the space with billowing steam.
Daisy watched, frozen, as he kept his back to her and worked the buttons of his waistcoat.
His bone-white fingers trembled from the cold, fumbling with each closure.
Frustration tightened his jaw, but he made no complaint, just kept working those infuriating buttons loose until he made it to the end.
He shrugged the waistcoat from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a wet slap.
The gun was gone. But where? He must have hidden it when he started the bath. She searched the room but didn’t see it.
His shirt came next. More buttons. More silent fury.
He peeled the soaked fabric away from his skin, the material clinging stubbornly before releasing its hold. It joined the waistcoat in a sodden heap at his feet.
Daisy’s breath caught, and his shoulders tensed. She hadn’t meant to make a sound, but she also hadn’t expected such a horrifying sight.
His back bore a landscape of violence. Raised ridges crisscrossed his shoulder blades in patterns that spoke of deliberate cruelty.
Welts that had never fully healed. Puckered circles that might have been burns.
Thin white lines layered over older scars, a chronicle of pain written across his flesh.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, but her shock had already escaped.
Their eyes met in the mirror as his muscles coiled beneath all that ruined skin.
Something flickered across his features. Not shame. Not anger. Recognition, perhaps. Or maybe defiance.
His cold, gunmetal stare dared her to ask, challenged her to comment. Then he turned to face her.
Daisy’s stomach dropped.
His chest told a worse story than his back.
Cigarette burns dotted his sternum in clusters, some faded to white, others still faintly pink.
A thick scar carved a diagonal path from his collarbone to his ribs, the edges ragged, as if the wound had been left to heal without stitches.
More burns marked his abdomen. More lines.
More evidence of years spent at the mercy of someone merciless.
Her chin trembled as she tried to calculate the length of time it would take to accumulate so many scars. They were past any point of healing, permanently etched into his skin for the rest of his days.
She swallowed tightly, forcing herself to look at what he so plainly challenged her to see. But every part of her wanted to turn away.
He had been a boy once.
Those marks had stretched and distorted in order to fit a man’s frame.
He moved past her without comment, approaching the copper tub and twisting the tap to stop the flow of water. One mark on his hip caught her eye as he stretched forward to drape a towel over the edge.
A silver circle with the letters RA, but reversed like a backwards brand. Her gaze went to his ring. The shape of the letters were exactly the same.
Had he done this to himself? The thought terrified her. If he could do such awful things to himself, what could he do to her?
His hands went to his belt.
Daisy turned her head sharply, fixing her gaze on the frothing bubbles floating in the tub.
The whisper of wet fabric slid down his skin, followed by the soft thud of sodden trousers hitting marble. Footsteps, then the shift of water as he stepped beneath the shower spray.
She measured her options. Take the key and escape. She couldn’t run, but she could hide. For how long? The other hunters were still out there.
Or, she could climb into that beautiful bath and try to feel slightly human again. She looked at the shower alcove, listening to the water sluice off of him in waves.
Her hands shook as she reached for the clasp of her bra. The metal slipped through her trembling fingers. Once. Twice.
Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to see, as her useless hands refused to cooperate. She had been strong all night. She had run and fought and survived. But now, faced with the simple task of taking off these god-forsaken clothes, her body betrayed her.
She couldn’t stop shaking.
Giving up on the clasp, she pulled her arms through the straps and shoved the bra to her hips and down her legs. Her exposed breasts made her all the more aware of how stupidly vulnerable she let herself become.
She just needed to get out of these trappings and into the water. It called to her like a baptism she needed more than her next breath.
A sob built in her chest as she fumbled with the tiny clips of the garter belt, her fingers too clumsy, too cold, too broken to manage the delicate mechanisms. She yanked at the fabric, ripping the lace, and shoved the ruined stockings away.
He was still in the shower, thankfully. Her eyes caught the mirror, and she stilled. Frozen in shock at the sight of so many cuts and bruises on her skin. Her hand trembled to the gash by her eye, and she winced at the tenderness.
Daisy’s gaze darted away. Why would anyone want her looking like this?
Her body shook harder as she refused to shed a single tear for the outcome of her own damn choices. Finally, mercifully, she lowered herself into the tub.
The heat seared her chilled skin like a brand. She gasped, her body tensing against the burn, as her defenses shattered. Tears spilled over her lashes, and she wiped them away, wincing when she brushed her fingers over the bruise on her cheek.
For a long moment, she simply sat there trying to process it all, but that was impossible. Even here, her memories played back like a dream. It would take years to make sense of what she’d been through. And the night wasn’t even over.
Adjusting by degrees, she let the warmth seep past her defenses. Her muscles slowly unclenched, but the tension trapped inside of her never fully escaped.
The water rose to her collarbones, surrounding her in liquid heat that melted the cold from her bones. Steam filled her lungs with each breath. Jasmine drifted through the air, coating her senses in softness that worked as a constant reminder not to get too comfortable.
Daisy took comfort in the sound of the shower, knowing she only had a short time to luxuriate in this brief respite. The scent of soap drifted from the alcove. Water sluiced and splashed as she stared at the stone partition.
A low sigh rolled through the billowing steam like thunder. Then a heavy breath. A hushed grunt, and a wet repetitive splash.
Daisy looked down at the water, trying not to listen anymore, but the sound was inescapable. She focused on washing herself, not bothering with the bottles crowding the silver tray, and instead reached for the wrapped bar of soap, plain, white, and familiar.
She scrubbed her body with robotic focus, trying hard not to think about how her skin had come to be this way. Blood. Dirt. Sweat. Fear. She dragged the soap across her skin in punishing strokes, watching the water cloud with the evidence of her night.
She made sure to clean every filthy inch. Her arms. Her legs. Her stomach, where Hadrian’s fist had driven the breath from her body. Her thighs where hands had grabbed and groped and taken.
Memories sliced through her in jagged fragments.
Gravel biting her palms.
Breath hot against her spine.
The rip of fabric.
The weight of hate.
The punch of revenge.
Copper flooding her mouth.
The bitter realization of powerlessness.
The loss of autonomy.
The theft of justice.
Timber.
“It will get better.”
Daisy gasped, unsure how long she’d been crying, how long he’d been standing watching.
His voice was stripped of command, stripped of pretense.
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, shoulders shaking, chest hitching with swallowed sobs.
A shadow fell across her as he set another towel on the ledge. “Take as long as you need.”
She didn’t look up.
He lingered a moment longer, then moved away.
She watched his reflection in the mirror, his tall, muscular figure wrapped in scars. Water still glistening on his shoulders, sliding in rivulets over the roughened landscape of his back until catching in the towel that hung low on his chiseled hips.
Beneath all that damage was a physically beautiful man. There were lots of beautiful men here tonight. Many of them evil.
He disappeared through a door she hadn’t noticed, tucked between the suite and the bathroom. A light flicked on.
Daisy let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding and sank deeper into the water, letting it close over her shoulders and ears. The bathroom fell silent, and for a brief moment, she shut her eyes.
She didn’t think. Didn’t worry about what happened next or how she would survive. For one precious moment, she allowed herself the simple pleasure of silence when she only needed to breathe.