Gavino
Smashing Benedict over the head with a tire iron was probably a bad call, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me.
And anyway, I couldn’t let him keep torturing Jeanie.
I get her situated on my couch and find my first aid kid. “I have experience with wounds like this,” I say, gently cleaning her cheek. “It won’t need stitches, but it might scar.”
“Shit,” she says, leaning her head back. She looks awful and gorgeous all at once in her catering outfit. “God, what a night.”
“What about the rest of you?”
“Bruises, I think. Nothing broken.”
“Let me see.” I prod at her side, seeing what she reacts to and checking if I can feel anything amiss. Again, lots of experience with these kinds of wounds. “I can call the family doctor to look at you.”
She winces and pushes my hands away. My fingers are dangerously close to her breasts and her cheeks are pink, either from embarrassment or excitement, I’m not sure. “That’s okay, no thanks.”
“You sure? He’s a good doctor and doesn’t talk. Two qualities we look for in a healthcare professional in my family.”
“I don’t think I need a doctor.” She gives me a look and a little smile ghosts on her lips. “But of course you have one.”
“I’m a Bruno.” I stand and move away, giving her some space. The couch in my living room is comfortable, if a little sparse. There’s a single throw pillow and a white blanket, and not much else around. My whole place seems empty, and doubly so with her in it. I haven’t had a guest in here in a long time, and this place is more like a room with a bed and a safe spot to sleep than a real home. “You want a drink?” I head over to pour myself a whiskey.
“I don’t know, will it cost me anything?”
I laugh and shake my head. “I just saved your life and you’re already giving me shit.”
“Sorry. Can’t help myself.”
I fill a glass for her and hand it over. She accepts it and takes a drink, grimacing a bit at the alcohol. I sit down across from her in an easy chair and let the alcohol fill my stomach with a calming warmth. My nerves are jangling and the last vestiges of adrenaline are burning off, and I can finally think straight.
Benedict was going to torture her. I came in at the right moment to save her ass, and even still I’m pissed that I was too late to keep him from hurting her at all. I didn’t think he’d take it that far—tossing her apartment and questioning her is one thing, but actually hitting her and cutting her is another.
I shouldn’t have put it past him though. Benedict has a reputation for cold, ruthless efficiency, even in my world where most men are vicious and deadly in their own way.
“Why’d he show up at your place, anyway?”
She stares at her drink as she recounts what happened. When she gets to the part where I bashed Benedict in the head, she gestures vaguely. “Then my knight in shining armor appeared.”
“Damn right.”
“Except you’re an asshole in an expensive suit. And you don’t have an ounce of chivalry in your body.”
“I’m offended, although you’re right.”
“Benedict was suspicious, that’s all. I don’t think he knew anything.”
“Maybe, if you’re lucky, but you know you can’t go back to your place ever again, right?”
She accepts that wordlessly and takes another long drink. I wonder if I shouldn’t give her alcohol right now, but screw it. She needs something to dull her pain.
“Fuck,” she says finally, quietly. “That’s not great.”
“No, it’s not.” I stand and wordlessly refill my glass and top her off. She looks so small and drawn in around herself, like she’s a collapsing star. I hate to see her like this. She’s so warm and fiery, like a bonfire follows her around. Whenever she’s nearby, I feel flushed and excited, my heartrate moves quick and my throat feels dry. It’s a strange desire, one rooted in the need to take, control, and dominate, but also in fascination. I want to watch her, see what she does next.
What sort of crazy shit she gets into.
“I can disappear. I’ve done it before. I can do it again.” She lifts the drink to her lips.