I take another step forward, and that results in moonlight to stream into the otherwise unlit room. It reflects on her side profile, and a chill – one that has nothing to do with the weather – rakes over my spine.
Her face…
The left side looks slightly purplish, and there’s a bit of swelling there. My hands clench into vise-gripped fists when I see the fresh scar on her right cheek. Immediately, the thought of Gavin having hit her crosses my mind, and my anger flares like a motherfucking fire.
I grit my teeth as my feet move forward on their own accord, and even though I’m slightly shocked by how strongly I’m reacting towards her, I don’t dwell on the realization. I brush it aside as I keep erasing the distance between her and I.
She doesn’t look up as I approach – not even when I fall on my knees in front of her.
“Cignette?” I say with caution, then place my hands on the mattress on either side of her, enclosing her.
She sits there motionless – still and silent – as if she’s a sculpture made of the tatters of the incident she has endured.
“Cignette?” I try again, but she continues to stare downwards.
I work my jaw as I study her. She looks lost in her thoughts, probably revisiting what happened to her, or maybe even dealing with the mental impact it has left behind. Either way, it’s making me restless seeing her this way, so I pull a hand away from the mattress and bring it to her face. With a swallow, I slowly, as gently as I can, cup the right side of her face and tilt her head up a little.
She parts her lips and sucks in an audible breath, but when our eyes meet, her brows pinch together in confusion.
“Dorran,” she whispers my name with a rush of air, then shakes her head. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I tried calling you, but it kept saying that your phone was switched off,” I tell her, as if that’s a valid enough reason for me to breach the estate’s security in order to see her.
Maybe it is. Maybe not. Fuck if it matters.
“Mave must’ve turned it off while I was asleep,” Cignette says matter-of-factly.
I clench my jaw. “Mave?” I all but spit the word out. Whoever this fucker is, they must be someone Cignette trusts, because there’s a familiarity and ease with which she says their name.
She blinks, sensing the slight change in my behavior. “Mybodyguard,” she states, and the heavy emphasis she puts on the second word doesn’t go unnoticed by me.
I feel my shoulders relax, which frustrates me. I need to get a damn grip on my reactions.
“Who did this to you?” I ask her instead of acknowledging her answer. I know who herMaveis, but I wasn’t aware that Chase had assigned him to Cignette.
Maverick is a polished asshole, with skills so keen they could almost put Solo’s to shame. During the few times I’ve met him, he’s kept to himself and obeyed Chase’s orders to the T. He’s not necessarily the kinda guy who invites trouble, so that’s a relief, at least.
It’s comforting, but also unnerving, that he’s around Cignette most of the time, but he’s nothing I can’t handle. If he gets in the way, I’ll be forced to deal with him. Until then, he can continue breathing and stay in his fucking lane.
Cignette inhales in response to my question. “It’s–”
“If you’re about to lie to me, Little Swan,” I cut her off, “then make sure it’s a solid one, because I’m well-equipped in sniffing out bullshit.”
She lets go of the breath she’s holding, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
My anger flares. She can’t possibly be defending the dipshit who hurt her.
I grit my teeth and move the hand I have on her cheek, to the back of her neck, before cupping it. I use my other hand to part her legs, then shift closer to her.
“Bullshit,” I hiss at her.
She looks pleadingly at me. “Dorran, please…”
“Was it Gavin?” I ask.
“What, no!” she says with enough incredulity that I’m assured it isn’t the greasy bastard.
“Then who, Cignette?” I lean in and scan her face. “Whofucking did this to you?”
