CHAPTER 12
CELINE
An hour later, there’s a soft knock at my door. Damian grunts that he’s leaving some clothes and toiletries outside my door. I say nothing because talking to him is too painful and confusing. I know he’s right about Rico–he’s an evil man, and he would’ve done terrible things to me–but is Damian any better?
Is my brother?
When I hear his footsteps recede, I quietly open the door and take my stuff.
I shower in the en-suite, trying to wash the day away, but it clashes in my mind in a chaos of confusion and need and uncertainty. Despite everything, the memory that clings to me most persistently is the gym.
His body pressed against mine, his firm body, the way he looked at me like he was starving and I was the only thing that could satiate him. The water clings to my nipples and makes my clit throb.
I quickly towel off and climb into bed, pressing my face against the pillow.
He’s a mobster, a killer, theBeast… and that’s not even mentioning the fact he should be off-limits to me, anyway. What if Julian finds out what we did? Despite this madness, he’s still my brother.
Sleep doesn’t come for several hours, during which my hand trembles as if trying to persuade me to slide my hand down my body, to press against the pressure building between my thighs, to relieve the tension.
I lay on my hands. I’m not giving in to that urge. That it’s even a struggle is absolutely ridiculous.
Finally, sleep comes. I’m grateful when I open my eyes next and realize I didn’t dream.
I take another shower – I sweated a lot in the night – and get dressed for work. Damian is waiting for me in the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs, wearing a workout shirt that shows off those mouthwatering arms of his. I try not to stare.
“Hungry?” he asks, then, “Are you working today?”
“I’ve got a shift,” I tell him. “And yeah… I’m hungry.”
For food – for more than food.
I sit at the table, brushing a hand through my hair, trying not to watch him cook. Instead, I stare across his clean kitchen through his dirty windows at the overgrown garden.
Damian carries two plates over, sitting opposite me.
“We need to talk about how to keep you safe,” he says as he settles in.
“Isn’t that your job?” I counter, voice laced with sarcasm.
“I’ll die before I let anything happen to you,” he says fervently, ignoring my sarcasm, his words heavy with iron certainty. “But you shouldn’t be here.”
That stings, which is absurd. He’s right.
“I thought you said I could stay?”
“No–here, in the city. You and Julian should skip town unti?—”
“I’m not leaving,” I say flatly.
A tic at the corner of his mouth, like pride and anger made a baby. His jaw clenches before he makes a conscious effort to unclench it. “Walk me through that decision,” he says. “You’re in more danger now than?—”
“My co-workers have families,” I snap. “They’ve got kids and plans and… and life, Damian. I’ve committed to several shifts over Christmas. It was hard for me to do because, well, it’s Christmas. But I did it, and I’m going to stick to my commitment. So, I’m not leaving. That’s all there is to it. If you want me to leave your house, then fair enough. But I’m not leaving the city.”
He looks at me for a long time, then sighs. “You’re stubborn.”
I shrug. “Maybe I am.”
“I’ll need to give you a ride to and from work,” he says. “Different routes. At work, don’t leave the hospital. They won’t try anything in a place so public. But if you put yourself in a vulnerable spot, they might strike. Keep your cell on you. Call me if there’s anything suspicious. I’m going to take care of you, Celine.”
