"Fine," I answer, finally standing to go move the dummy back to its spot. "Tomorrow we'll start with weapons. You need to learn to use a gun. You know, in case there's no acetone nearby next time."
A beaming, almost crazed smile lights up her face at the reminder of how she dispatched the Sanctum. She wiggles her eyebrows, "I'm sure I could get creative with whatever I have at my disposal."
Of that, I am also sure. Which scares me a little bit.
She struts off, the exhaustion from these workouts no longer leaving her almost unable to move, leaving me behind to just watch her walk away, my eyes glued to her backside. Still half-hard, I remember the way that ass felt in my hand, the way the flesh melded to my firm grip as she clung to me.
Wiping my hand down my face, I groan, willing the thoughts to subside. But I know better, and they won't. Hopefully, I can get Isla trained well enough to defend herself and get the Sanctum off her track before she realizes just how much control she holds over me.
But I know better, and I won't.
Fuck.
At dinner, Isla shows up a few minutes later than usual, dressed to the nines.
A gorgeous dark blue dress that shows far more of her cleavage than even her sluttiest pajamas. The dress ends mid-thigh, showing me every inch of the muscle she's packed on since arriving and making my fucking mouth water to taste her all over. The only things out of place are the ridiculous socks, such a contradiction to the dress and overall beauty of Isla tonight.
"Wow, is all that for me? I'm flattered," I place a hand over my chest, trying and probably failing to keep my perusal subtle.
She laughs, flipping her perfectly curled hair over one shoulder. She even has makeup on, including some shiny, glittery bullshit over her collarbones and shoulders, drawing my attention to her tits every time I manage to tear it away.
"No," she bats her lashes. "I had a date."
A date.
"Oh?" I force my tone to stay light, wondering what in the actual fuck is happening right now. "Have the deer managed to return and one of them got your attention?"
She glares at me, as she does every time the extinct populace of this island comes up in conversation. "It was a virtual date. An acquaintance from back home who finally had the courage to ask me out."
The muscles in my jaw tick. I really shouldn't give a fuck. If someone had a little video chat with Isla for an hour or two, what business is it of mine? She needs something to keep her occupied besides the day to day of work and training.
I clear my throat, "How'd it go?"
"Fine," she shrugs, taking a bite of the food, leaning over the table, and revealing even more of her perfect breasts. "She wants to see me again. But like, in real life."
Over my dead body.
"Well, how unfortunate that you're not in a position to do that right now."
Her glare meets mine again, "Yes, I know that, thank you so much."
"What did you tell her?"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.
"I told her the truth," she shrugs, twirling another bite on her fork with no intention of eating it yet. "I'm out of the country for the time being, but when I get home, I'd love to take her out on a real date."
I've always thought of myself as someone with morals. Someone who only wants to harm those who deserve it, butsomehow I'm standing here, full of some sick need to hurt an innocent woman whose only crime is being attracted to the most beautiful person to ever walk the earth. Of course, this mystery girl wants Isla. Who wouldn't?
But that doesn't stop me from imagining dismembering any person who dares to touch her. And that's a disgusting thought to have. So I shake off the thoughts and tell her the closest thing I can to the truth, "Well, I hope you get the chance to date for real again someday."
The chance to do so, yes. The desire? Absolutely fucking not.
"Thanks." Her eyes water, not daring to look up at me, "Do you ever date? Or think about it?"
"No, baby," I chuckle. "I don't date. I fuck."
She looks at me with narrowed eyes, not taking the bait or believing me for a second.
"Alright, alright," I give in, running my hand through my hair. "The truth is, I don't really do anything but this. Much like you, I'm a workaholic. Everything else is just... unnecessary." For some reason, I can't bring myself to tell her that having people I care about feels like a liability, or else she'll pry, and I don't want to share any more of myself than I have to with her. I'm definitely not going to tell her about Arthur. I try not to think of the first year of my life anymore; the memories and emptiness in my soul are still too painful to spend any time dwelling on.
