“I don’t think the handlers will let me get away with not washing you,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I promise even though the waters a little cold that this’ll feel better than hosing you down, okay?”
I swallow my fear as he bares his teeth, lunging forward as much as the chains will allow, which isn’t much at all, considering the cuffs are practically welded to the wall itself.
I slowly crouch down and dip one rag in the water, squeezing out the excess before slowly reaching out and wiping away some of the sand from his knee.
At this angle, he can’t lunge out and bite me.
“I know I’m a new person and you don’t know me, but I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.
His molten amber gaze remains locked on my every movement as I slowly wipe down his right knee and down his shin.
“You’re really muscular, you know that? I mean, I haven’t seen a lot of guys in their underwear before, but you’re definitely the biggest.”
I have no clue what I’m saying. I don’t even know why I’m talking right now, since it really doesn’t seem like this guy is interested in conversation, but I can’t help but fill the silence between us.
“Technically, I’ve seen two other guys shirtless: Griffin andAsh. I think you’ve probably met Ash before, he’s been here for a long time too. They were also super muscular, but you’re, you know, big in a different way.”
His growling stops as I make my way down his left leg. Every time I peek up at him, his molten gaze catches mine, and I quickly look back down at what I’m doing.
I dip the rag back in the water, swishing it around and squeezing out the excess before standing slowly.
“I’ve gotta wash your chest now, that okay?”
His only response is that intense stare.
“Well, I’m taking that as a yes,” I say, letting out a small huff of laughter. “Don’t bite my head off, okay, big guy? Everyone else seems convinced that’s what you’re gonna do.”
As I take a tentative step closer, extending my hand with the rag out, I’m incredibly aware of the fact he could probably bite it off.
But he doesn’t.
He stays remarkably still, almost like he’s purposely keeping the muscles in his body locked, as I wipe down his chest.
His skin is burning hot when my fingertips accidentally brush against him.
Standing this close to him, it’s like I’m sinking into his scent. Leather and iron. I’m noticing the scent of blood growing less intensethe more I wash him.
I’m not sure whether that’s because I’m wiping away the dried blood from his body or because that’s the way his scent shifts when he’s upset.
I have to stand on my tiptoes to wipe off the blood from his arms. Even though there are thick scars around his wrist and ankles, like he’s fought desperately against the chains that bind him now, there aren’t any open wounds.I quickly realize that the blood there isn’t his.
“Wow, I guess you won the fight,” I say, laughing nervously to try to soothe the unease skating down my spine.
The man in front of me is capable of a level of violence I don’t think my mind can comprehend.
But as I wipe down his face and stare into his eyes—one bright, the other clouded—I wonder how much of that violence was because he wanted to and how much of it was because he was forced to.
CHAPTER 14
Rage
Mine.
Mine, mine, mine, mine,mine.
This omega ismine.
Her touch is soft. Confusing.
