Chapter Eight #2
When he’s done, he digs through his drawers and tosses me a shirt that looks like it could swallow me whole and a pair of shorts that will hang loose on my hips. “Put those on,” he says simply, turning away to give me space.
The fabric is warm from his hands, smelling faintly of smoke and leather. Sliding into them feels like stepping into someone else’s life.
He waits until I’m dressed before he nods at the bed. “In.”
I blink. “What?”
“Bed,” he repeats, tone flat, no room for argument. “You need to get warm. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna try it on. No funny business.”
The words shouldn’t make my stomach flip, but they do. He doesn’t leer, doesn’t smirk. Just points at the bed like it’s a doctor’s order.
Too tired to fight, I slip under the covers. They’re cold at first, then soft, and I sink deeper into them, allowing the softness to caress my skin.
I watch as he pulls on some grey tracksuit bottoms, and I force my eyes to divert from his tattooed chest. “I’ll be back,” he mutters, heading for the door.
“Back with what?”
He pauses in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “A hot drink and a sandwich. You look like you’ll keel over if you don’t start to build your strength back up.”
My throat tightens at that, but I force my face blank. “I’m fine.”
He snorts, the sound low and disbelieving. “Sure, you are.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone in his bed.
I stare up at the ceiling, clutching the blanket tight under my chin. I don’t know what scares me more—Colin’s threats, or the fact that part of me wants to believe Shadow really means it when he says no funny business.
Because if I start believing in men like him, I’m done for.
The quiet stretches after he leaves, broken only by the hum of rain against the windows and the pounding of my own pulse in my ears.
I try to convince myself to get up, to grab my bag and disappear before I get too comfortable.
But the truth is, I can barely lift my arms, and the mattress is softer than anything I’ve slept on in weeks.
The door creaks open again. His heavy footfalls cross the floor, steady and certain, and I smell the bread before I see it.
“Sit up.”
His voice is low but firm, that tone that makes me obey even when I don’t want to. I push myself upright, tugging the blanket tighter around me, as he sets a steaming mug on the bedside table followed by a plate with a thick sandwich.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, dragging a chair closer and sitting like he’s not moving until I eat, “but it’ll do the job. And the bread was made fresh today. Luna is an expert.”
I eye the plate warily. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did.”
That simple. No fuss, no explanation. Just certainty. Like he’s suddenly taken on the role of caregiver.
My hands shake as I pick up the sandwich. The first bite nearly undoes me—warm bread, melted cheese, something salty. I chew fast and swallow faster, because if I stop to taste it properly, I’ll cry, and I don’t want him to see that.
“Slow down,” he mutters, leaning forward. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
I glare at him over the bread. “Stop watching me.”
“So you can choke? No chance.”
I roll my eyes but keep eating. He waits until I’ve polished off half before sliding the mug closer. The steam curls up, rich and sweet. Hot chocolate.
I blink. “You made this?”
He shrugs, as if embarrassed. “It was in Lexi’s cupboard. Didn’t think you needed caffeine.”
The first sip scalds my tongue, but I don’t care. Heat spreads through me, chasing away the chill in my bones. My throat works around a lump I can’t swallow.
“Better?” he asks.
I don’t answer. If I say yes, if I admit this feels good, it’s another brick gone from the wall I’ve spent years building.
So, instead, I take a few more sips before placing it on the side, then I flop down onto the pillow, turning away from him. “Is it a fetish?”
“Huh?”
“The need to feed me, watch me eat. Is it a kink?”
He sniggers. “Darlin’, my kinks don’t include food.”
His answer causes me to blush. “You can go now. I’m sure you have plenty to do.”
The chair scrapes back, but instead of leaving, he pulls the blanket higher over my shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, Remi. Sleep.”
And damn him, his voice is softer than the blanket, steadier than the rain outside. For the first time in forever, I let my eyes close, even though I know better.
Because men don’t stay.
Not for me.
I don’t know how long I was out for, but the low murmur of voices drags me back. At first, I think it’s the rain again, threading through my dreams, but then a laugh cuts through—sharp, female.
I stay very still, lashes heavy against my cheeks, breathing slow and steady like I’m still asleep.
“Tell me it’s not true,” the woman hisses. Her voice is familiar, and then it clicks. Sasha.
“You gonna keep your voice down?” Shadow mutters back, low and edged with irritation.
“Don’t dodge the question,” she snaps. “The women are talking. They said the street rat’s staying. Here. In your room.”
Street rat. My jaw tightens, but I don’t move.
“She’s got nowhere else,” Shadow says after a pause. His tone is flat, like he’s explaining something obvious.
“Since when do you care?” Sasha demands. “You’ve never given a shit before. Girls come, girls go. That’s the way it works. But her? What is she to you?”
“Enough,” he warns. The sound of his body shifting carries across the room. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“I turn down others to be with you, Shadow. And I’ve never complained before, but recently . . . since she’s been around, you’ve changed. What is it with her?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“When you insist I’m your own personal whore, it has everything to do with me. This woman is a liar and a thief. She’s gonna bring you trouble.”
Her words are met with silence, and I’m tempted to open one eye, but then his voice comes, quieter this time. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sash. But until I’ve explored whatever this is with her, I can’t see you again.”
My chest tightens.
“Are you serious?” she hisses. “You’re brushing me off for a tramp you found on the street?”
“You need to get the fuck out,” he snaps, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “You talk about her again like that and we’re gonna be having a very different conversation. We clear?”
Sasha makes a sound, a scoff maybe, and then I hear the door close as Shadow releases a long breath.
I lie frozen, fingers fisted in the blanket, forcing my breathing to stay slow. My heart doesn’t listen, hammering so loud, I’m sure he can hear it.
And the fact he stayed, even when he was desperate to shut her up, because he promised he would, makes my chest ache.
I swallow hard, blink the sting from my eyes, and keep perfectly still until his chair creaks again and he settles back down, silent except for the steady rhythm of his breathing.
I should be relieved. Instead, I’m terrified.