“Because I believe in karma and fate. You shouldn’t dish out what you aren’t willing to receive in return. Some people need to learn that lesson the hard way.” With that, I lean past her and get the handheld showerhead to rinse off her hair and body. “We need to get you out of here and dried off.”
“Okay.”
I don’t know if my words made sense to her, or if she even cares, but I meant every single one of them.
Whoever did this to her, whoever scarred her this irrevocably, has to pay.
He won’t get away easily either. Most of the time, I prefer clean and quick kills, since they make my life a lot easier. But there are special motherfuckers who deserve to die a slow and painful death. Gemma’s attacker belongs to that group.
Somehow, we’ll find him, even if it takes me a while like with Nikolai and Vladimir. No one can hide from me forever, no matter how hard they try. Everyone slips up eventually.
I turn off the water and get one of the towels from outside the door. After squeezing it around Gemma’s hair several times, I brush it over her skin. It’s a bit of a battle, considering she’s still wearing her wet underwear.
I point at her bra and panties. “Let me help you take those off.”
It’s nothing special, just some simple, smooth fabric, but it doesn’t take away from how sinful it looks on her.
She shakes her head. “I’ll do it.”
“Stop being so damn stubborn. You’re just going to hurt yourself even more.”
The glare she sends me is so hostile, I’m surprised I’m not going up in flames. Then she snatches the towel from my hand and turns her back to me in a silent invitation.
Not wanting her to change her mind, I unclasp the bra and pull the straps down her arms without making too much contact. As much as I want to make her squirm, I know it hurts her if she gets goosebumps or shivers.
Before I can grab her underwear, she steps out of my reach with the towel clutched to her chest.
“I got it from here, thanks.” She’s avoiding my gaze, which is fine by me.
I drop my wet boxer briefs and reach for the other towel to dry myself off, then fasten it around my waist.
Ignoring her attitude, I snatch the ointment and new bandage and go to her to take care of her wound. Any longer, and she might decide to bite off my head.
Then I collect both of our clothes from the floor, so I can throw them in the laundry room downstairs.
I stop in the doorway. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Yes, I’m good.” She peeks at me from under her lashes, her long hair hanging around her in wet strands.
Nodding, I leave the room, just as my phone rings.
My dad.
“Hey, Papà. Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back, okay?”
“Si.”
I drop the clothes off in the laundry room and make my way to my office, where I’ve been keeping my things. The couch in here isn’t the most comfortable one, but this cabin only has one bedroom, so until Gemma’s better, it’ll have to do.
Picking some gray sweats and a black T-shirt, I put them on and get into my office chair.
This cabin might seem like a normal—albeit large—cabin from the outside, but during the remodeling, I have spared no cost on the inside, or on the security of this place and the ten-acre property.
Once the computer is online, I check that lines are secure before I video call my dad back.
His face pops up on the screen, his dark oak office furniture behind him. “Come stai, figlio?”
I shrug. “Bene.”