“How much water do I have?” he asked as he pulled his hair away to one side over his shoulder, not even caring that his bleeding hand stung.

But something changed in the atmosphere behind him, and before he knew it, King was opening the door, and he grabbed Laurent’s neck with one massive palm.

“What are you really doing here?” he yelled, slamming Laurent against the wall.

The ruined sense of safety paralyzed Laurent as the big, masculine body forced him out of the water. The giant joined in, but instead of putting his huge hands on Laurent too, he grabbed King’s wrist.

“What do you want from this kid now?”

King was panting, and he wouldn’t loosen his hold on Laurent’s neck, as if frozen in his vicious rage. He furrowed his eyebrows, but Laurent couldn’t work out much more with King’s face having morphed into a tangle of colors from up close. “I…”

“Can’t you see someone’s hurt him? Stop scaring him!” The giant stood in a way that would allow him to block any punch coming Laurent’s way.

King let go of Laurent and laughed all of a sudden. “I just thought he might snap out of his amnesia. You know, like when you scare someone who has hiccups.” He backed off, and as soon as his hand was gone, Laurent stumbled back into the warm shower, too stunned to think. Something was terribly wrong, and that sense twisted up all his insides. He couldn’t see well, but he could sense the lie.

The giant closed the translucent doors, locking Laurent in and staring at King for several moments. “Maybe you should check how it’s going downstairs,” he said in the end.

King’s nostrils flared, and his gaze darted to Laurent in a way so intrusive it felt like a stroke with a cane. “Don’t let him go anywhere.”

Laurent looked down at the pink water circling the drain.

“I’m on it,” said the giant, following King with his gaze until he left the bathing room. They were both silent until the door into the corridor opened and closed, but even then the water remained the only sound in the room.

Finally, Laurent dared to glance through the glass, but his throat was tight, as if he could feel Fane’s hands around it. The giant was still there. Leaning against the sink and watching. Even the warm water and pine-scented foam in Laurent’s hair couldn’t help Laurent calm down.

“I’m sorry about this,” the giant said in the end, crossing his arms on his chest. “Were you held somewhere against your will? There’s cuff marks on your hand.”

“No, I scratched myself. In the woods.” Laurent looked down to his bruised wrist and bleeding hand with a sense of righteous anger suddenly rising within his chest. That monster William Fane had intended to keep him in his basement and rape him over and over again. He deserved the end Laurent had given him.

The giant remained silent, but he approached in slow, steady steps until only the shower doors kept him from Laurent.

Laurent swallowed and rubbed his face with the soap and water. “Is it still on me?” he whispered.

“What?”

“The blood.” Laurent stepped closer to the glass so that the giant could see him better.

An odd silence followed, but in the end, the giant asked, “who gave you that brand?”

Laurent stilled, and so did his heart. “What brand?”

The giant’s voice was lower when he answered. “The brand on your nape. Who marked you?”

Laurent stepped back from the glass that was steaming up so much he could barely see the giant anymore. He reached back to his nape and ran his fingers over ridges in his skin that haven’t been there the last time he touched. They felt hot and yet didn’t burn him. His breath sped up, and he remembered how the devil touched him.

Of course the devil would mark him as his.

“Laurent? Don’t faint,” the giant said. “Tell me who did this. As long as we don’t know who you are, you will need to stay here, so it’s in your best interest to tell me.”

“I’m not going to faint! I’m fine!” He started rubbing his face in hope he’d gotten all the blood out. “Why is my hair still sticky?” he whispered, imagining Fane’s blood thickening in his long mane, forming ugly, tangled knots that could never be washed clean. It was getting difficult to breathe, and the steam wasn’t helping. His wounded hand stung when he touched his hair. Everything hurt. Everything was against him.

“Because you put half a bottle of shampoo into it. What the hell’s wrong with you? You either tell me what I need to know, or we both wait until you do. Stop pretending like you don’t know how to wash your head, because I’m not doing it for you!”

Laurent sucked in his lips, set on remembering all details that were being mentioned. The goo was ‘shampoo’, and he’d used too much. He decided waiting was the answer then, because he would not be disclosing details of his mission to King’s soldier-monster-man. At least the running hot water was helping wash out the goo, and with it, all traces of pink in the water eventually disappeared.

Tags: K.A. Merikan Kings of Hell MC Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net