Again she remained silent, but when I raised my brows she said, “Okay.”
“I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I want to help.” I was the absolute wrong person to help her. Fuck, I didn’t know how to help her. I was crass, rude, didn’t give a crap about anyone.
But her I did.
She tucked the towel under her feet and I caught a glimpse of purple marks in the crook of her arm. My eyes narrowed as my stomach twisted.
Reaching forward, I took hold of her wrist and turned her arm. Bruised skin and ruptured veins. “He gave you drugs?”
She pulled back and I let her go.
“What drugs?” Fury pulsed as I thought of the room I’d rescued Ryker from weeks ago. Strapped down, needles piercing his skin, machines hooked up to him.
“Valium mostly,” she said. “Ketamine and Valium when I fought.”
It was hard as hell to not completely lose it in front of her. I didn’t get it. Why the hell would her husband drug her? What for? What was he doing that she needed to fight and he had to drug her to stop her from fighting?
My hands curled into fists and my temple throbbed. I needed to calm the fuck down before the rage, which was my constant companion, let loose and scared the shit out of her.
I refrained from reaching out my hand like her husband had done that day on the rooftop, and instead, put my hands on her upper arms and urged her to stand. She had no choice, unless she wanted to let go of the towel, which I knew she wouldn’t.
I stepped out of the shower and pulled her over to the cupboard to get her a dry towel.
“Thanks,” she whispered as I handed it to her.
I nodded, then said, “You’re too fuckin’ skinny.” I turned and walked out.
I collapsed against the bathroom counter, palms flat on the marble, leaning forward with my head down.
My emotions had been sealed, hidden and buried in a tomb for years. I was numb; I liked being numb, but Kilter dug up the tomb and ripped off the lid, and now my emotions were tearing through my veins like missiles.
I didn’t know what to feel right now. Scared. Relieved. Confused. They fought one another like puzzle pieces jammed into the wrong places. They were all there, but none of them fit, and they didn’t fit because they were scrambled.
Since I’d first met him, I’d been teetering on the edge of breaking. Weeks. Weeks of the numbness slipping.
I stood, breathing in and out for several minutes, until I had some semblance of control back. Then I dried off and pulled on the clothes that were left next to the sink.
The black yoga pants were stretchy and soft, but my skin was red and tender from scrubbing it raw with the rough stone in the shower.
I’d scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to erase Anton, the compound, everything, but it hadn’t worked. That place had been like a leech sucking the life out of me. It didn’t matter that Anton was dead or the place was blown up.
I’d learned over the years to block out everything happening around me. But with Kilter I couldn’t block him out. He was tender and careful, and yet his words didn’t match.
There was so much anger bottled up in him. It was in his abrupt tone and movements, the way his eyes narrowed when he watched me with that spark of fire burning in their depths.
He made me nervous, and at the same time I felt protected. I wasn’t certain why, except he had been the only person in my life who’d helped me.
Avoiding the mirror, I towel-dried my hair and then headed into the bedroom. I stopped when I saw Kilter standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed.
Kilter had tattoos, which made him more intimidating than he already looked, especially when he held a knife in his hand—a hand that had one of those tattoos on the back of it. But I was accustomed to intimidating.
What I wasn’t accustomed to was directness, and Kilter had that, too. He was crass and harsh, didn’t tap dance around what he wanted to say or fill my head with sweet promises to gain my trust.
His chin lifted and his eyes met mine. “You ill? Dying? Or was the bastard starving you?”
Definitely direct.
The floor creaked under his weight as he approached me.
He was so close now that, when I inhaled, I smelled the dampness on his skin from when he came in the shower with me. He’d obviously changed, as his clothes were dry. He reached out and I stiffened, fighting the urge to run back into the bathroom.
After tucking my hair behind my ear, his hand slid around my neck to cup the back of it. He was gentle, and it was nice because I expected something different. His other hand settled on my hip where the edge of the long-sleeved, V-neck shirt stopped.
“Babe, tell me.”
I licked my lips and his eyes darted to them, brows drawing low over his dark eyes. “I’m not ill. Not really.”
“Why are you so thin?”
“I have trouble eating sometimes.” Actually, all the time, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Why?”
Shit, why? There wasn’t a straight answer, and definitely not one I was ready to share with him or anyone else.
“I need you to…”
He stopped and stiffened as the scent of roses permeated the room. I looked around for whatever made him tense and noticed a mist by the door. I stepped back, but Kilter kept his grip on me and I couldn’t go far.
I stared in awe as the swirling blue mist solidified and, in its place, a woman appeared.
Holy hell.
She had long, blonde hair and smooth, white skin, too white, almost translucent. Fine, soft features graced her face and her eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen. Cobalt blue with specks of turquoise.