Chapter 11
Kara - Present
The key slips into the lock and I open the door. The apartment coated in darkness, and my stomach sinks.
He didn’t make it out.
“Owen!” I call.
I step into the small hallway and flip a light on and I find his shoes sprawled haphazardly in the hallway, and my body sags in relief.
“Thank Christ,” I mutter.
I stand on the threshold, listening. The sound of the shower the only thing I can hear in the quietness of the apartment. I drop the gun onto the console table and pause, standing in front of the mirror.
It’s the first time I’ve seen my reflection since the attack, and Jesus, I’m a mess.
My hair is barely in its updo. The tendrils of dark hair are knotty and fallen against my face.
The sprinkler system makes them like rat tails which cling to my face, covered in dust, dirt, and dried blood.
Tear tracks run down my cheeks, and my makeup is a smudged mess.
The make-shift bandage is grubby, the blood seeping through, and the dress. Well, the beautiful red dress is ruined, and I left the sodding shoes in the ballroom—which is quite annoying as they were nice!
I slowly make my way through the flat, a small one-bedroom safehouse that only I know the location of.
Sensing there was more to this assignment, I ensured we could go completely off grid if needed.
Well, as off grid as you can in central London.
This little flat is tucked down a side alley in Soho. I bought it years and years ago, where it remained empty and ready for an emergency, just like tonight.
It has furniture, but is sparse, with very little to show that anyone lives here. I pay someone to come in and keep an eye on things occasionally.
Andrews has no idea about this place.
No one does except for one, Luca Knight, who’s now a ghost. I helped him with that, after he needed to disappear after bringing down the Covenant.
I kick Owen’s shoes out the way and walk into the bedroom where the ensuite is located, the sound of the water growing louder.
I flip the light switch, the overhead lights illuminating the room in a soft glow. The double bed untouched and looks inviting. My body fights from the exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm as my adrenaline drops.
I cross the room and touch the soft comforter, promising myself that I would be climbing in it soon, before I knock on the door.
“Owen…” I don’t wait for his response.
Instead, barging in and finding him crouched in the shower, fully clothed except for his shoes.
His back is against the dark tiled wall; his arms are hugging his legs to his chest. Water is pummelling his body, cascading over his face. The blood runs off his clothes, the remnants having pooled to the side where his large body blocks the drain.
A lasting reminder of what he just witnessed.
In this moment, he looks like a child. Lost, confused, and utterly broken. Pieces of himself have crumbled and washed away as the water soaks him, and I want to put him back together again.
I want to make his pain go away.
I don’t bother stripping. I walk into the huge double shower fully clothed and drop down to my knees, the water from the huge overhead shower spray hitting me.
“Are you hurt?” I ask softly.
He slowly looks up at me. His eyes are full of so much torment that my heart hurts for him. This isn’t his world; this is mine, and I need to remember that. Death isn’t something he has been close to, not in such a violent, unforgiving way.
“No.” His eyes lock on mine, and track over my body, taking me in. Raw and real. “Are you?” He reaches out, his fingers lightly touching my shoulder.
“This? I’m fine. Can you stand? I need to get you out and into dry clothes. You’re in shock.”
He stares at me and frowns. “Aren’t you?” he suddenly snaps. “Aren’t you in shock? I’ve just watched one of my friends get shot. Fucking shot, Lucy. FUCK!” he bellows, his hands running through his hair and gripping it, tugging at the roots. “This is my fault.” He shakes his head and shifts.
I crawl towards him as the spray continues to hit me, my dress clinging to my body.
“This was an attack, Owen. This wasn’t your fault.”
“Jesus, she has kids, Lucy. What have I done?” His voice cracks and he buries his face in his arms, his body shaking.
I do the only thing I can.
I climb further into the shower and sit next to him, tucking my hand behind his back as I hold him.
I hold him as he blames himself for causing tonight. I sit in silence, letting the sounds of the shower’s water drown out his tears.
My mind busy trying to figure out what the fuck I’ve walked into with this assignment and who would be bold enough to blow up a charity event…twice.
His breathing comes back under control, and he looks up into the shower spray, the water washing away the tears and dirt from his face.
I don’t say anything.
There’re no words that can placate him or stop him from blaming himself. I’ve seen how these things affect people. I don’t ask him the barrage of questions I have in my head, that will have to wait.
Right now, I need to do damage control. And that starts with Owen.
Goosebumps pepper my skin as the dress clings to me and makes me colder. I stand up and turn the shower handle, making it warmer.
I reach down and put my hand out to Owen, who is watching my movements, and he takes it. I pull with all my strength to get him into a standing position.
He’s dead on his feet.
Slowly, I reach up to his collar and pop it up, undoing his bow tie, then undo each button. I refuse to look up, because his stare is intense, watching my every move.
Undoing the last button, I open it, pull it down over his shoulders, and let it fall to the floor with a wet slap, it’s only then that I glance up into his eyes.
And wish I didn’t.
Dull, mossy green awash with hurt and confusion looks back, but there’s something else in how he looks at me. His hands run up my body and into my hair, slicking it back in the water.
He can feel the pins in the back of my head, holding what’s left of my hair in place, and he slowly removes them.
Water cascades through his hair, over his cheekbones, nose and lips, onto his body which is toned. Defined muscles were hiding under his shirt, and dark hair peppers his chest.
Jesus Christ.
Owen has grown the fuck up, and my insides are cartwheeling.
This man is sexy. And this man means so fucking much to Lucy.
To me.
Because regardless of how many times I try to bury her, she’s still there, hiding behind Kara.
Scared and broken.
Each pin is thrown to the floor. All the while, we stare into each other’s eyes. It’s an intense moment, but when we have been through so much already in our lives together, it feels right.
I can bring him the comfort he desperately needs.
Lucy can.
His hands deftly work the pins out and then he slowly runs his fingers through my knots, pulling the last of the dark tendrils from around my face, my hair fully slicked back.
He runs one hand over my head, past my temple, down my cheek, the backs of his fingers slowly touching my skin.
Feeling me.
And it’s probably one of the most intense experiences of my life. And I kill people for a living.
He makes his way to the zip at the back of my dress, and painfully slowly undoes it. My heartbeat increases and I mirror what he did to me, running my hands through his hair, pulling the wild tendrils back. Not one word passes our lips, but so much is said.
One of the straps falls away from my shoulder and he tries to pull the dress off. There will be no way it’s coming off without intervention.
I’m currently swearing at Anya for talking me into buying this sodding dress. She was so worried about being able to run in it, taking it off when wet hadn’t been something we had thought about.
But I really wish we had.
I run my fingers over his chest and down towards the top of his trousers, undoing the top button. Leaving my dress on, I stoop and pull both the trousers and boxers down over his strong thighs, down his legs.
He steps out of them.
Don’t look at his cock.
Don’t look at his cock.
I look at his cock.
And there it stands in all its aroused glory, but I ignore it. Even though my brain is telling me to pop it in my mouth.
Brain.
No.
Stop.
I stand, grab the shower gel, pour it into my hands, and rub it over his shoulders and chest. The coconut smell fills the shower. I wash the dirt and grime off his body, the last bits of blood, and wash his hair.
The sound of the shower fills the void between us.
Once the last of the bubbles are off his skin, I reach behind him and turn off the shower. The dress I’m still wrapped in makes me that much colder.
I’m telling myself it’s the dress that’s making me shiver, not him.
Not this moment.
I take his hand and lead him out of the shower, grabbing a big fluffy towel off the shelf and pass it to him.
He turns his back to me and dries.
I use the break in his intense stare and take the opportunity to peel the dress awkwardly away from my skin.
Pulling my underwear and bra off my body, I walk back into the shower.
I’ve got my back towards him, his watchful eyes on me.
“What the fuck, Lucy.” I hear him growl from the edge of the shower.
I spin round at his outburst, bubbles covering my hair and dripping into my face.
His fists are clenched, knuckles are white, his face downright murderous.
“What the fuck is that all over your back?”
Shit.
Occasionally, in my field of work, you can get yourself into some pickles. And well, Owen is currently staring at the aftermath of one of my said pickles.
“Burn marks,” I explain, letting the water wash away the shampoo.
I was more worried about the scar that could be seen in the dress. I’d completely forgotten about the burn marks. Let’s also not focus on the fact I’m completely naked in front of him. Just carrying on with my business like this is how we have all our conversations.
Naked.
“Burn marks?” he questions, still fuming. “From what?”
“Fire. Obviously.”
“For fuck’s sake, Lucy,” he grates. “This isn’t funny. Look at the state of you.”
I wince. The bite of pain from his harsh words catches me off guard, but I close it down quickly.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to take a shower.” I walk towards him and push him out from the shower, back into the central bathroom. “There are clothes in the top drawer. They should fit.”
I dismiss him, turning my charred, scarred, and it would seem disgusting body, from him.
“Lucy.”
He says my name softly, and I sense him behind me. Close.
“Look at me please,” he commands gently.
Goddamn it.
Tears bite at the back of my eyes, so before I turn and face the arsehole, I tilt my head back up to the shower spray, letting the water wash away the evidence.
“Yes, Owen.”
“I didn’t mean…” He sighs and looks past me, then looks straight into my soul. “I didn’t mean it like that, you’re beautiful.” He cups my cheek, and I lean into him.
I want to punch myself in the fanny at how I react to him, how my body reacts to him, how I feel something. Something so deep inside that I thought it didn’t exist anymore.
A crack in my coldness.
I shouldn’t react; I can’t react. But I do.
“Please,” I plead, my eyes searching his. Desperate for him to not say anything else.
Tension builds between us, and I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t look into the pool of green, because I want to jump into the moss and swim in it. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and feel his mouth on mine.
I want Owen King, and this is so not good.
And so not part of the plan.
Remember when I said I am so fucked?
Well, I am so unbelievably fucked.