Chapter 22 #2
Grimes rummages in one pocket, his other arm still holding me like I’m a horse that might bolt.
The warmth from his huge frame is so comforting I could almost fall asleep again.
Different from the airless heat in my bedroom.
It doesn’t make me panic. I have no idea why he’s being so nice to me.
I’m so strung out I have no energy to question it.
Doesn’t he think I’m even weaker and more useless than ever after a meltdown like this?
Messy tears, total panic, stripping out of my clothes…
Why is he being so kind to me? I risk a glance up into his face.
The hood is still up, but his eyes are less guarded than usual.
He traces a finger over a scar next to my belly button, making me shiver reflexively.
I realize it’s the first time he’s properly seen my naked torso in daylight.
“Loan sharks?” he guesses.
I nod, ashamed.
“I’d like to get my hands on them some time.” His tone is casual. But his dark eyes burn into mine, anything but casual. For once, the rage isn’t directed at me. I have no idea how to react to that.
“Oh. Okay,” I say.
He strokes my hair like I’m a kitten. Surreal.
No idea how to react to this either, but it feels damn good.
He keeps staring at me. His eyes are so fucking intense.
But they’re not scaring me right now. Hardly knowing what I’m doing, I reach up for his hood.
I go slow, like I’m approaching a fearful animal, like he’s the vulnerable one here, giving him plenty of time to stop me.
He just keeps watching me. I slide the hood down, my heart pounding.
His head is shaved. He looks much more handsome without the hood.
There’s a tattoo on the side of his muscular neck.
Ugly, scratched letters that mean nothing to me.
Red discolored skin stretches out around the tattoo, making it twice as large as it would’ve been when it was done.
It must’ve gotten infected and never been treated properly.
It looks like a prison tattoo. So this is what he’s been hiding from me.
I didn’t think he would be the type to be ashamed of a criminal past. I thought he might even enjoy the intimidation factor it could bring.
“You were in prison?” I ask. I trace a fingertip over the tattoo and his eyes close. Grief crosses his face, a slight twist to his lips. Then his eyes open again.
“Yes,” he says.
Finally, an explanation for his bitterness.
Rhennes city prison is a harsh place. Not as bad as being locked up somewhere like Galbrava, but bad enough to cause those lines on his face.
The inmates work six days a week and the conditions are overcrowded, the food barely enough.
Most respectable citizens will shun you when you get out.
No wonder he moved to Galbrava. He’s as much of an exile as I am.
“Why did you get the tattoo?” I ask. “You seem ashamed of it now.”
His lips quirk without humor. “It wasn’t exactly a choice. Either join the prison gangs or be their victim.”
So even Grimes knows what it’s like to be overpowered, to be forced to work with the enemy?
“What happened?” I ask. “What did you go to prison for?”
His eyes slide away. “I’ll tell you some time. It’s time for dinner now.”
“Oh. All right.”
I’m a little disappointed that there are limits to our moment of intimacy. Stars, I really am a slut. And not even in a sexual sense. I’m shamefully needy for any affection. But I don’t want to push him. Maybe he’ll tell me when he’s good and ready.
“I’m sorry I locked you up,” he says. The words are barely a whisper, but they’re there, hanging in the air between us.
“It’s okay. You weren’t to know.”
“I’ll never do it again. You have my word.”
So much sympathy for me, even though he was in prison for two whole years compared to my few minutes. No one would’ve come to save him if he panicked. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I’ll never run from you again,” I say. “You have my word.”
His arms tighten around me. We sit quietly for a few moments, and for once I don’t feel the need to fill it. Then I glance at the clock and see how late it is.
“I’ll get started on dinner, Boss.” I realize belatedly that I haven’t called him that since I woke up in his arms.
“No, you won’t,” he says. “You need to rest. I’ll cook tonight.”
I’m not going to argue with that. I’m exhausted: panicking is more tiring than digging all day.
Then a knock at the door makes us both jump.
A man’s head appears, looking in the window.
It’s the barman from the pub where we had lunch in the city.
When he sees us sitting together so cozily, a look of shock crosses his face.
“Sorry, I’m interrupting, I’ll go,” he yells, loud enough to be heard through the open window.
I leap off Grimes’ lap, my face flaming. Grimes puts his hood up in a hurry and heads for the door.
“It’s all right, come in,” he says.
His hands are fidgeting like he’s a shy teenager. He can’t look at me, or at the barman for that matter. This is ridiculous: it’s not like we were caught in flagrante.
“I just came to check everything is all right,” the barman says to Grimes. “This one”—he jerks a thumb at me—“told me you’d fallen into a mineshaft in the woods and asked me to go and rescue you.”
“He did?” Grimes sounds surprised, his gaze flicking to me.
“Of course,” I say. “As soon as I reached town.” I told him I didn’t want to hurt him. Maybe he didn’t believe me.
“Oh,” he says.
“Well, since you’re both in one piece and apparently getting along all right,” the barman says, “I’ll be on my way.”
He looks annoyingly smug. The look of a man who can’t wait to report the gossip to his cronies. The famously austere, tough Grimes cuddling with his soft little servant. I can just imagine how they’ll laugh at Grimes in the tavern.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Grimes says, a bit desperately. He’s probably thinking the same thing and trying to put off the evil day.
The barman snickers. “I’m no third wheel.”
“Hey, it’s not… you wouldn’t be…” Grimes trails off as the barman smirks harder.
Grimes shoots me a look, like this is all my fault. Unfair. He’s the one who bundled me onto his lap and literally wouldn’t let me go.
“Have a good evening, you two.” The barman saunters out, openly laughing now.
Grimes closes the door behind him, more loudly than necessary. “I should’ve punched that smirk off his face,” he mutters.
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because… you’re delicate and you wouldn’t like it,” Grimes says.
I snort. “Sure.”
“Oh, just shut up, Florian. Go and sit down and stop bothering me,” he says.
I give him a salute. “Yes, Boss.”
He takes his hood down again. Because it’s only me here now. The intimacy that implies feels like it means something. My chest fills with warmth. Needy. Pathetic. I can’t help it. He starts to wash his hands with water from the basin.
“We’ll take tomorrow off work.” He glances over his shoulder at me as soap suds creep up his brawny forearms. It’s kinda hot, in a domesticated kind of way. “I’ve been working you too hard. I forgot you’re a pampered rich boy.”
Before today, I would’ve read contempt in that comment, but not since he held me on his lap.
He was genuinely sorry he locked me up and caused me pain.
I walk up behind him at the washbasin, and this time I make sure he can hear me coming.
I don’t want another brutal elbow in the gut.
He cocks his head, wondering, waiting. I put my hands softly over his eyes and kiss his cheek.
His whole body shivers. He turns to face me.