I nod and reach for the first aid kit. “He said you missed an appointment with an elder lady. Ellen something.”
“Ellen Morris. Oh shit. I’ll have to call her and apologize.” He scowls. “Don’t know where my cell phone is. Fucking hell.”
“I’ll help you find it,” I say, my curiosity piqued. “Who is she? From the way Gale talked about her, she sounds like a special client.”
“She is.” He lets me pull his hand onto my lap, put gauze and tape it around his hand. “She’s more like...a friend.”
“A friend.” I close the first aid kit, put it on the table.
“Yeah. She invites me for dinners and concerts. She likes to pet my hair.”
“Sounds creepy.”
“Not really.” He flexes his taped hand. “I kinda...like it. Not that it doesn’t annoy me when she orders me around. Sit. Put your head on my knee. Close your eyes. But then…” He shrugs. “She’s kind.”
Yeah, I can see now how in a life so empty of human touch, she might look kind. Maybe she is. At least she hasn’t harmed him.
“I’m also good at petting hair, you know.” I reach over, stroke his hair, wink. “I offer my services for free.”
He snorts.
Why do I feel this urge to protect him? He’s a grown man, a tall, strong man who used to be an underground fighter. He doesn’t need me to protect him from frail old ladies who pay to touch his hair.
And yet I feel like he needs me.
“What about you?” he says, and I frown, not following.
“What about me?”
“How are you doing?” He f
umbles for my hand, turning so he can see me with his good eye, and I wrap my fingers around his. “Are you really better?”
“I am. Mostly thanks to you.” I smile at him.
“Not true.” He strokes his thumb over the bones of my hand, sending shivers of pleasure up my arm. “Is there anything I can do?”
Tell me what you’re afraid might happen. What those men wanted from you. Leave the agency. Run away with me.
Really be with me.
But I only shake my head. “I love you,” I say. That’s all.
Chapter Twenty
Riot
She’s unhappy.
Of course she is. She said she loves me, that she’s mine. And I told her I’ll keep fucking other women for money.
Why would she stay? I’m losing her, and I’ve hardly ever had her.
Not only that, but if things go tits-up, then I may not even be around to have anything with her in the first place.
Shit. I need to survive that fight, no matter what.
I look at her when she’s not paying attention as we scour the apartment for my cell phone. Her body’s hot, but my gaze keeps returning to her small face, the wide, dark eyes, just as my thoughts keep returning to the way she held me after I lost it, without fear. Keeping me together. And promising to take care of my own.