Chapter 8 - Athena
Standing next to the bed, I stare down at him.
His face is relaxed, his lips slightly parted as he breathes deep and slow.
Adrian is fast asleep. I’m still shocked at the amount of blood he lost, and at how he hardly moved at all while I removed the bullet. I’m shocked at myself, too—that I was able to remove a bullet even though my hands were shaking so badly.
I stare down at my hands. They’re covered in blood. So are my clothes. So are his.
My hands are still shaking even now. My breathing is uneven, and my body feels foreign to me.
Out of nowhere, a sudden, intense anger rushes through me. Anger at him for hiding the truth from me, anger at my father. Anger because I’m scared, and I don’t want to be.
In the next moment, I’m flooded with disgust. I start clawing at the blood-soaked clothes sitting flush against my skin. I need them off. I need the blood off. I need to be clean.
I rush from the guest room into the bathroom. Grabbing the gun on the floor, I ignore the mess of bandages and blood from where I tended to his injuries, and I run upstairs with the gun in my grip, up to my own bedroom.
But then I pause.
Someone has to clean the bathroom. Adrian can’t do it because he’s hurt.
And I can’t just leave it there, it’ll bother me.
So, I take a few deep breaths and head back down.
First, I wipe off and pack away everything that belongs in the med kit. Then I get a cloth and a bucket of hot water.
I use bleach to clean the sink and the tiles because I saw in a movie once that that is how you get rid of blood.
The sharp scent of bleach actually calms me, even though it burns my nostrils and eyes.
The process makes my mind go blank. It distracts me enough to ease some of the panic away.
When I’m done, I feel like I've achieved something.
I pack away the bucket and the mop, then head back up to my own bathroom.
Setting the gun nearby because it is my only sense of comfort right now, I switch the shower on and start peeling off the layers of my filthy clothes.
I toss them straight into the bin because I can’t even bear the thought of wearing them again.
There is a thick scent of iron in the air, almost overpowering the bleach on my hands, and I didn’t even register it until now.
Blood. Blood smells like iron. Images of dead men on a warehouse floor flash through my mind, and I push them away.
When I step under the shower, the water is too hot, but I don’t move. I let it pour over me. It hits me clearly and runs off in red and pink streams. None of this blood is mine, but somehow, I feel like I am bleeding.
I’m bleeding away the person I used to be as the world I used to know disappears.
It’s terrifying. And daunting. And I don’t know where or how I fit into things anymore.
I shower until my skin is burning, scrubbing and rinsing several times. The water is running clear now, even though my thoughts are still a mess.
Wrapping the big, fluffy, white towel around me feels safe and comfortable.
In my bedroom, I sit quietly for a moment before slipping into warm sweatpants and a pink hoodie.
Then I head downstairs to check on Adrian.
His face is coated with a layer of perspiration despite the cold.
I pull his blanket over him and wipe his forehead with a cool cloth. He doesn’t feel like he has a fever, but I guess it’s something I should look out for over time in case he gets an infection.
I have no idea what to do for him. I sit with him for a little while, then leave to make a cup of tea.
I drink the tea, watching him, wondering if he told me the truth about who he is. It’s no surprise he kept it from me; it’s not really something you want to go about advertising to random people.
After a while, the questions become too much, and I decide I have to find answers.
In his office upstairs, I begin pulling open drawers and searching through files.
It’s not difficult to piece things together. Two sets of books for the same warehouse. Code words in handwritten notebooks.
He really is part of the mafia. I am living with a criminal. But not just any criminal—a very powerful, very rich criminal that can probably make anything happen with the snap of his fingers.
Fear ripples through me. My fingers trace over the gun sitting on my lap. I haven’t been able to part with it since he fell asleep. It’s safety. It’s my security net. Just the weight of it makes me feel better.
I walk into my room, sit on my bed again, and then lie down. I put my head on the pillow and close my eyes, thinking that there is no chance in hell I’ll manage to fall asleep. But I do.
And even more surprising, I sleep through the early evening and all the way into the next morning!
It’s late morning when I wake up with a fright, as everything that happened suddenly rushes back into my memory. I reach for the gun under my pillow and take a deep breath to try and sooth my racing heart.
Rolling off the bed, my immediate need is to go downstairs and check on Adrian. I hadn’t meant to leave him alone for so long. I guess my body was exhausted and overwhelmed. Besides, what more could I do for him other than check on him?
Still, I feel bad for leaving him alone for so long.
Adrian is still sleeping. He’s changed position, and the blankets are pulled up around his chin.
His skin feels warm but not hot, and his breathing is soft and even.
When I lift the blankets, feeling a bit uncomfortable about it because he isn’t wearing a shirt, I see that the bandages are still in place and there wasn’t any fresh bleeding during the night.
I quickly drop the blankets, horrified by the idea of him waking up while I’m staring at him with the damn blanket in my hand.
I tuck it back around him and step away from the bed.
A sigh of relief slips from my lips. He’s ok.
My stomach growls and rolls in an empty complaint of hunger.
Neither of us had lunch or dinner yesterday. When he wakes up, he’s going to be starving.
Heading downstairs, I wander into the kitchen because I need something to do, and it would be nice if he could wake up to a home-cooked meal.
Besides, I’m going to end up going a little crazy if I have to wander around alone all day, lost in my thoughts again.
Part of me keeps screaming that I should try to escape. I should run. I even know the code word to open the door… unless it’s only programmed to his voice and not the actual words. Still, I could easily steal the key from him now. If I really wanted to, I could escape. And I should.
But again, I think about where I would go.
And it’s not the only thing stopping me.
What kind of person would I be if I walked out on a man who had just been shot saving me?
I thought about it a few times already. The only reason he got shot is that I was standing there like a complete moron, not moving at all, in an open line of fire, risking my life because I was too stunned to move.
And he had to run across the entire warehouse to pull me down behind the cover of those crates. It’s kind of embarrassing.
In the kitchen, I browse the cabinets and the fridge, then pull out all the ingredients to make spaghetti Bolognese. It’s pointless to make breakfast food. Eggs will go rubbery; toast will go cold. Lunch makes more sense.
It’s soothing going through the familiar recipe in my mind, step by step. Caramelize the onions. Add the spices. Ignore how red the tomato paste is and keep going through the motions. I don’t know why, but I hauled out the biggest pot, and I am filling it to the top.
I keep chopping onions until all the onions are done.
I keep slicing tomatoes until there are none left.
It’s like I desperately need this task to last as long as possible, so I’m making way, way too much food.
Adrian is going to have to freeze portions of this off because we are going to be eating this for weeks.
It feels like hours and minutes in my blurred, numb state. Continuously, I glance at the gun on the counter just to make sure it’s still within reach. Still comforting.
Eventually, the kitchen is filled with the rich aroma of Bolognese.
My stomach is growling even more.
“This smells amazing,” Adrian’s voice comes from behind me and makes me jump right out of my skin. Immediately, as though instincts now rule my thoughts, I grab the gun. Spinning around, I point it at him.
“Don’t come near me,” I blurt out. My heart is racing, thudding unevenly.
A dangerous half smile touches his lips.
His hair is wet from a shower, brushed back with his fingers.
He’s wearing fresh clothes and looking healthy and gorgeous.
There is a fresh scent of body wash and cologne drifting toward me.
If I hadn’t tended to his wound myself, I would never have known he’d been shot.
“Is the safety off?” he asks, taking a step closer and leaning to the side to check the gun.
I quickly snap it off as my cheeks flush red with embarrassed heat. Dammit. I kept reminding myself over and over again. The number of times I’ve flicked it on and off since I’ve been carrying the gun around is actually silly. And then when it comes down to it, I forget all about it.
“Just... stay over there. Don’t come closer to me.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own as I snap the words at him.
Adrian ignores the warning and takes another step toward me. “Come on now, kitten. Put your claws away.” His voice is like honey. Gently amused yet still dangerous enough to send a chill down my spine.
It happens so fast.
One minute, I have the gun firmly in my hands and pointed at him. Next, he grabbed me and spun me around. My back is locked against his chest, the gun is nowhere to be seen, and he has me pinned against the counter.
His breath is hot against the curve of my neck as he leans down and whispers in my ear, “You don’t need to be afraid for me, kitten. I would never hurt you.”
The deepness of his whispered words sets my body on fire. Or perhaps it has nothing to do with his voice and everything to do with his body pinned against mine. His arms are locking me in place.
I feel small against him. Wiggling, I try to shift away, but all I manage to achieve is rub myself against him. I can feel his cock against my back, and even though he’s not exactly hard, I’m suddenly hyper aware of how badly I want him.
It’s like all the fear and stress have morphed into pure lust.
A soft whimper escapes my lips, then anger washes over me.
I could elbow him right in his side.
But something stops me.
He saved my life. He took a bullet for me.
My body relaxes in his arms, and he senses the shift in me.
He sets the gun down on the kitchen counter right in front of me.
My eyes trace over it, but I have no desire to pick it up again.
“What did you make?” he asks, amusement teasing his voice.
“Make?”
“For lunch?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. How is he so calm all the time?
Shifting, still pinned against him, I turn around to look at him.
“Did you shower with the bandages on?” I ask.
“I took them off, then put fresh ones on after the shower.”
I nod, satisfied.
“Spaghetti,” I answer his questions.
“It’s making my stomach growl,” he whispers, “I’m very hungry.”
Except when he looks down at me, his dark eyes suggest he’s hungry for something other than food. He reaches up and traces his fingers gently over my cheek. “Did you get some sleep?” he asks quietly.
I nod, unconsciously biting my lip.
“Good. Thank you for helping me. You make a very good nurse.” His eyes glimmer with even more mischief. If he tried to kiss me now, I wouldn’t even stop him. The thought comes out of nowhere and surprises the hell out of me.
I wish my cheeks would stop burning so bright red.
Finally, Adrian steps away from me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Um, are you, do you, I can dish up some food?” I blurt out, hardly making any sense.
“Did you eat yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll help. We can eat in the living room by the fire. I’ll have it lit again in no time.”
I nod, biting at my lip again.
Adrian lifts his hand and gently brushes his thumb over my lower lip, and my heart races. “You look worried. You don’t have to worry about anything when I’m around, ok.”
He leaves to start the fire while I pull out two bowls and dish up some food.
When I walk into the living room, he has the room glowing warm and a smile on his face.
“I don’t remember the last time I was this hungry,” he confesses.
“Adrian,” I say. “I want to know everything about the mafia.”
My request catches him by surprise. I watch reluctance flicker over his face.
“Athena, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. The more you know, the more at risk you are,” he explains.
“Well, I’m married to you. I am directly in the middle of all of it. the way I see it, the more I know, the safer I’ll be,” I argue. “Ignorance isn’t a good way to protect myself.”
He sighs, taking the bowl of food from me and sitting down next to me.
“Athena, it’s not that simple.”
“So, make it simple!” I snap, losing my patience.