Chapter Sixteen
Soren
Two weeks after Lev’s murder, I haul myself up the side of the Moretti mansion to get to Alex’s room. All of my texts have gone unanswered, and my calls went directly to voice mail, leading me to believe that she has shut off her phone—or perhaps didn’t bother to pay the bill. I’d send a fucking pigeon if I could figure out how to train one. But she probably wouldn’t respond to that either.
As I scale over the rail of the veranda, I sigh, hoping that she’s home. She hasn’t been to school or the Somerville home, refusing to see anyone. Reportedly, she hasn’t allowed her maids into the bedroom either. Though it can’t be that terrible. Alex has always been a meticulous cleaner.
The doorknob jiggles but doesn’t budge. With a grunt of annoyance, I procure my lock-picking kit from my back pocket and work at the lock, easily accessing the room in a matter of seconds. Darkness blankets my shoulders when I wander inside, shadows of furniture rising in various places around the room.
It’s weird—I don’t think I’ve ever been in Alex’s room. My eyes float over the four-post bed, the silk blankets, the floating shelves hosting porcelain cows. A smile quirks my lips as I try to imagine what the rest of the room looks like. I walk to the other side of the room and flip the switch.
And then I cringe.
The entire room is in disarray. There’s an odor hanging in the air, a stale stench that finally registers when I notice the piles of takeout trays, paper bags, used napkins, and utensils that crowd the carpet near the bed. In the middle of the silk sheets rests a motionless lump with the blankets tugged tightly around it.
I hum. “Sugar?”
“Go away.”
“Nope, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me today,” I tease, making my voice as light as possible. “Doctor’s orders.”
“You mean Parker’s orders.”
I snort. “Parker has nothing to do with me being here. I’m here because…because…”
The blanket slides from her shoulders as she sits up on the bed. Her long hair is tangled, sloppy, greasy, and rumpled from what appears to be a perpetual game of rolling around in bed—and not the kind that’s fun either. Her T-shirt is stained with condiments, her shorts are dingy, and her legs are unshaven.
She looks like a mess.
She covers her mouth as she turns around, her eyes rimmed red from crying and manicure untended. Every bit of her should look like a nightmare to me, but what I see is a girl who’s so heartbroken that she can hardly take care of herself.
I frown sympathetically while approaching the bed. “Sugar, let’s get you into a bath.”
“I don’t want a bath.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
She fixes a disgusted frown on her lips and says, “So, you’re like Parker now, huh?”
“Ms. Alex, I’m not going to argue with you. If you want to sit here in your filth, you’re more than welcome to do that. But don’t you ever accuse me of treating you the way he treats you.”
The frown dissipates into a pout as she lowers her gaze to the bed, tears pricking her eyes. Realizing my tone may have been slightly harsh, I slowly approach the bed and take her hand in mine.
“Come on, sugar. It’ll make you feel better. Promise.”
A moment of resistance gives way to her tentatively placing her toes on the ground. Once I have her in the bathroom, I fill the tub with hot water and lavender bath bubbles. I test the temperature with my wrist, nodding when it feels sufficiently hot without being scalding, and then turn around to help Alex out of her clothes.
Her lower lip quivers as I scoop her into my arms and place her in the water. She hisses, clutches my shoulders, and then whimpers as she relaxes into the bath. While smoothing her hair out of her eyes, I notice how pallid her skin appears. Losing Lev has been a terrifying blow to us all, but it seems it’s hit Alex the hardest, her heart undoubtedly cracking as much as her skin has over the past two weeks.
After grabbing a washcloth, I work up a decent lather with a bar of soap and then get to work scrubbing her skin. She shudders under my touch but largely remains still as I move the cloth along her skin. I’m meticulous about scrubbing away dead skin and dirt, being as attentive and gentle as possible.
I wash her hair next, being sure to run my fingers through the strands with conditioner to help get rid of the knots. I leave the conditioner in and rinse my hands, drifting to the counter to grab a toothbrush. When I hand it to her, I instruct her to brush her teeth and then locate a fresh safety razor from an unopened package beneath the sink.
The shaving cream on the counter smells like berries, a lovely scent that seems to put her into a better mood. And by better, I mean she isn’t pouting anymore. I’m careful with her legs, being sure to cover every inch up to the V of her thighs. Her pussy needs attention too, but I clamp down on the feeling, desire bubbling in my core as I realize she probably needs a lot more than just grooming attention.
Not now, asshole, I warn myself while I gently rinse her legs. She’s upset. Let her grieve.
Stripping away the layers of dirt and helping her groom reveals the beauty underneath it all. Alex has a natural glow to her that surfaces when she’s feeling good about herself. That’s something the other guys have never understood about our dear toy—she needs to be pampered.