Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
When his blood starts drying on my face and hands, I shove myself back and away from Dale until my back hits the wall. I’m shaking, and I draw my knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them as I ignore how much of a fucking mess I am.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
This was supposed to be a choice I made, because I either wanted to or didn’t. I was meant to discover what I am, instead of being forced to defend myself.
Fuck, Dale really was a piece of absolute shit. My fingers flex, and I close my eyes, trying to remind myself that this wasn’t a total waste and that this wasn’t my only chance.
The basement door opens, and I hear Larkin’s steps on the stairs, then when he pauses, unmoving.
“He attacked you.” The man’s voice is empty, devoid of anything that would make him human, and I don’t look up from the circle of my arms.
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” I snarl, frustrated and hoarse from Dale’s hands around my throat.
“He ruined it, Larkin. This was supposed to be for me. I was going to get to decide.” I lift my head enough to glare at Dale’s ruined body, and look up further when Larkin’s shadow falls over me, signaling his proximity even though I hadn’t heard him approach.
I don’t expect the look of sympathy in his gaze, or the slight frown on his lips. He surveys Dale, from the broken cuff still around his ankle to the chain snaking along the concrete floor by the bathtub. “Ah,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, Tova.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Sort of is.” He kneels down in front of me and reaches out, though he pauses with his fingers close to my face as if to let me know I don’t have to accept his touch.
When I don’t spit on him or pull away, he pushes my bloody hair back from my equally bloody face.
“I know what you wanted. I was trying to give you that.”
My nose scrunches up in irritation, and I meet his eyes as he presses his hand to my cheek.
“But pouting won’t do anything to change it,” he adds, his smile a little less kind and his eyes dancing with their usual, private amusement. “Give me a moment.”
As I watch, Larkin stands with a sigh and heads over to Dale.
For a few seconds he just surveys him, and more than any other time, I wish I could read Larkin.
Yet, as per usual, he’s completely unreadable.
His dark eyes remain trained on Dale, from his face to his bloody chest and arms, before he bends to sling the man over his shoulders, carrying him to the tub and dumping him unceremoniously into it with a hollow sound.
Somehow, he barely gets any blood on him, other than a streak across his face that gives him a savage, dangerous appearance when he turns to hold a bloody hand out to me.
“Come on, silly girl.” He doesn’t force me to take his hand. Doesn’t reach down and pick me up like I’m expecting him to. Larkin just waits, his hand outstretched in invitation, and a complete certainty in his words that I’ll take it.
For some reason, I do. I don’t knock his hand away, or snarl, or ignore him, though all three options flicker through my brain.
I reach out with fingers that tremble to press my palm to his, allowing Larkin to pull me to my feet.
Not letting go, he leads me upstairs, stopping when we get to the mat in the kitchen, already taking off his shoes and pointing at a small tarp secured to the floor with tape.
“Shoes and clothes,” he tells me while taking off his own shirt and shoes, though he doesn’t remove his jeans.
He doesn’t really need to, I realize. I can’t see any blood on the denim, so I doubt he’s going to make a mess of it anywhere.
Without thinking, I take off my shoes and socks, leaving me in my leggings and hoodie. But then I pause, giving him a look. “You want me to strip in your kitchen?” I ask dryly, my voice full of quiet disbelief.
“Well, it’s that or you can hang out in the basement with Dale until you change your mind,” Larkin answers cheerfully. God, I hate the stupid, arrogant smirk he pulls out at times like this, and a low, murmured, “Fuck you,” leaves me as I yank down my leggings and toss them on top of my shoes.
Larkin’s hand catches my chin, pulling my gaze up to his as his eyes narrow. “Would you like to repeat that, silly girl?”
With the way the words come out, and the warning behind them, it occurs to me that I really, probably don’t. I break our staring contest first, dropping my eyes and shaking my head. I won’t stoop so low as to apologize, but I can at least admit my mistake. Silently.
He drops his hand without another word, and I peel out of my hoodie, though I don’t go any further than that.
My long-sleeved tee is clean, and so is my underwear.
I curl my fingers into my palm and look up at Larkin, prepared for him to argue as I stand there, feeling small and uncomfortably vulnerable under his gaze.
“Good girl.” The praise sends a shiver down my spine that chases away a bit of the frustration, though I don’t understand why. “I appreciate you listening to me so I can get this cleaned up efficiently for us.”
I don’t expect that, either. He doesn’t owe me an explanation when I’m here in his house, having fucked up a murder for which he provided me the tools to achieve on my own.
The frustration comes rolling back, and I look away.
But Larkin only tsks under his breath and grabs my hand once more.
Now that I can’t track blood across his floors, he leads me to the bathroom, turning on a small, dim light instead of the ones above the vanity.
When he lets go and moves to the tub, I take the opportunity to look around.
Though I wouldn’t call the bathroom rustic by any means, it matches the cabin’s aesthetic with warm shiplap walls and lights that glow golden, rather than white.
A noise catches me off guard, and I look over as Larkin turns the tub faucet so water sprays out to hit the porcelain of the slightly oversized tub hard, though he keeps his hand under the flow so the red staining his skin is washed away within seconds.
It hits me that at this point, I should stop trying to guess his next move.
Nothing he’s done tonight has been predictable, and staring at him as he waits for the water to heat up in the bathroom of his private cabin is even less so.
A softer part of me craves to comb my fingers through his soft black hair, while a more feral, frustrated side wants to wrap my fingers around his throat.
Not to choke him, though.
But because I want his reaction. I want the animalistic energy he’ll give me in response to my threat, no matter how that looks or where I end up. I want to take out my irritation and my anger over the fucked-up murder out on Larkin in all the best ways, though none of those ways end with him dead.
Well, that’s not true.
I’d be lying to myself if I sometimes didn’t fantasize about the light leaving his eyes while I straddle him, my hands around his neck so I can feel the moment that his life—
“Tova.” His voice breaks through my fantasies, drawing me back to the present with a small, guilty jump. I look at the tub, which is now about a third full, then to his face, and Larkin gestures to it, though he doesn’t move from the side of the tub.
“With you right there?”
“I’ve seen it all before.” Larkin lifts a brow at me, unmoving. “Are you asking me to leave?”
Part of me wants to. Just to see if he would. But the bigger part of me wants to see what he does if I don’t make him leave.
My gaze rarely leaves his as I tug off my t-shirt, though I don’t miss the way his eyes travel down my body before coming back up to mine.
A small, almost nervous smile twitches at my lips, and I’m a bit quicker to remove my bra and underwear, leaving them in a pile on the edge of the bathroom vanity.
The only sound in the softly lit bathroom is that of the water filling the tub. Well, that and my heartbeat pounding away in my ears. It’s hard not to cross my arms over my chest to keep myself from the cold vulnerability creeping in, but I manage by not looking away from him.
Larkin moves first this time. It’s only to reach out his hand again, offering it to me like an anchor or a lifeline.
Again, I take it, my fingers lacing with his so he can pull me forward.
I use his hand for balance as I step into the tub, and it only takes me a moment to sink down with a grateful sigh into the hot water, leaning back against the sloping wall of the tub to close my eyes.
God, I hadn’t considered how good this would feel. Though the altercation with Dale barely lasted ten minutes, I only recognize the tension in my body now that my muscles start relaxing with relief. My shoulders ache almost as much as my throat, and I jolt when I feel something touch my shoulder.
“Just me, silly girl,” Larkin murmurs when I open my eyes to watch him.
He’s moved closer to where I’m sitting, and he shows me the navy washcloth in his hand.
“I’m just cleaning you up.” That’s all he says before he wipes my neck and face clean, and when he’s done, he tosses the cloth into the sink so it doesn’t muddy the bath.
“I’m not a silly girl.”
“No, you aren’t,” Larkin agrees, his words surprising me enough that I open my eyes again after I’ve closed them. “You’re my silly girl.”
It’s impossible to miss the possessive undertone in the words, or the way his voice drops when he says them.
Something twists in my stomach, though it isn’t fear.
Searching myself for a few moments makes me realize with a surge of embarrassment that I’m turned on by this; just by Larkin washing my face and telling me I’m his silly girl, instead of silly to the world or in general.
Clearly, I have a problem when it comes to him.
But I have a lot of problems, if I’m being honest with myself.